


The Only Thing That's Real

by themanbeneaththehat



Category: Beautiful Boy (2018), Call Me By Your Name (2017), Call Me By Your Name - All Media Types, Call Me by Your Name - André Aciman
Genre: Angst, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Eventual Happy Ending, M/M, Not Epilogue Compliant, Slow Burn, True Love, beautiful boy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-29
Updated: 2019-03-14
Packaged: 2019-08-09 11:27:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 19,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16449074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themanbeneaththehat/pseuds/themanbeneaththehat
Summary: When Elio tries crystal meth for the first time, he no longer feels haunted by the loss of Oliver or consumed with the self hatred he feels for letting Oliver affect his life so much despite not having even spoken to him in over a year. It all just falls away, leaving him feeling better than he ever has.The high was incredible, like nothing he had ever felt. Everything, just everything fell away. He felt good, about himself, about his life, and his choices that lead him to this moment. He forgot about Oliver on the other side of the country. Oliver who he was always so aware of, was suddenly no trouble to him anymore. Nothing mattered except this moment and how he was feeling with this drug coursing through his veins. This is what had been missing. This could fill that hole in him that had been there since Oliver had left. This was everything.A crossover between Call Me By Your Name and Beautiful Boy, though mostly relying on Nic Sheff's memoir "Tweak" to shape Elio's story.





	1. Day 1

**Author's Note:**

> I hurt myself today  
> To see if I still feel  
> I focus on the pain  
> The only thing that's real
> 
> The needle tears a hole  
> The old familiar sting  
> Try to kill it all away  
> But I remember everything
> 
> -Hurt, Nine Inch Nails

“Pronto?”

“Elio? You there?” _Oliver_. He knew his voice in an instant. He couldn’t believe it. After so many months of silence, there was his voice.

“Hi,” he responded, stunned and elated. “How are you?”

“I’m good, I’m good. How are you? How are your parents?” Elio could hear the smile in Oliver’s voice.

“I’m good. They’re fine,” he smiled back, taking off his headphones. “I miss you.”

“I miss you too — very much.”

Elio listened to Oliver breathing on the other end of the phone, thousands of miles away and yet so close. He could almost feel his breath on his skin again, as though they were once more lying side by side in the warmth of the sun at Monet’s Berm.

“I hear you’re attending Berkeley next year.”

His father, always hopeful, must have told him in their latest correspondence — mostly just last minute notes for Oliver’s manuscript, with a scattering of personal details thrown in. Elio wouldn’t hear back on any of his applications for months, but his father had his heart set on UC Berkeley. “I’ve applied. I don’t know if I’ll get in. I sent applications to a few schools, a couple in Italy, but more in America.”

“I’m sure you’ll get in. You’re one of the smartest people I know,” Oliver teased, but they both knew he was being serious.

Elio laughed, embarrassed. “I-I applied to a couple schools in New York too. NYU and um — Columbia.”

Oliver sighed.

“I thought—“ Elio began haltingly. “You’re not upset, are you?”

“I have some news…”

***

_One Year Later_

Someone was pounding on his door. His roommate had already gone home for the Christmas break, having finished his finals the previous day, leaving Elio alone in the dorm to enjoy the quiet that was now being harshly interrupted. He had had his last final that morning, and was now using his blessedly empty dorm room to smoke a little weed and wallow about his life.

It always came down to Oliver and Elio hated himself for it. It had been a year since they had spoken, longer since they had even seen each other, and yet he found his life had been shaped by those six weeks of the previous year’s summer, specifically two of those weeks.

Allison, his girlfriend of three months, had ended their relationship that afternoon. They had met at UC Berkeley’s Freshmen Orientation and struck up an immediate friendship, quickly turned romance. But she always knew his heart wasn’t fully in it. She was okay with it for awhile, things were more casual than serious, but it was one thing to not fully have his heart, and another to have his heart be with someone else entirely. She didn’t know who Elio was longing for, but she didn’t want to deal with it anymore. He didn’t blame her.

Why couldn’t he just let Oliver go? This man who had walked away from him, who was engaged to someone else, was already married for all he knew, why did he still have so much control over him? Did he really hate himself that much that he would let a perfectly good relationship implode for a man who couldn’t, wouldn’t love him back? He took another hit off the joint and dragged on his headphones to drown out the pounding on the door with a bit of Liszt.

“Elio!” a voice shouted above the piano playing in his ears. Jason, of course. Elio scrubbed his hands over his eyes. He loved the guy, but he just wanted to be alone. “Elio, I know you’re in there. I can smell your weed from down the hall.”

Shit. Elio sighed, there was nothing for it now. He dragged himself off his bed and opened his door. Jason was standing there, big grin on his face. “Get dressed, we’re going out.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Absolutely yes. Let’s go get shit faced. Finals are over, neither of us are leaving for home until tomorrow and there are a bunch of parties going on at the frat houses tonight.”

Elio just shook his head, “I’m really not in the mood. Allison ended things this morning.” Elio wasn’t entirely broken up about it, just one more thing to make him feel shitty about himself, but it was a good excuse to get out of it, or so he thought.

“All the more reason! Wallowing isn’t going to fix anything. Let’s go have some real fun — you’ll feel better. I’m not taking no for an answer!”

***

They had been at a party for a couple of hours, drinking beer and smoking pot, when Jason nudged Elio’s arm. “God, this is boring. Let’s go somewhere else.”

“You do know that all these parties are going to be the same, right?”

“I’m feeling too mellow,” he complained despite the chaos of the party around them. He took another hit on the joint before passing it to Elio. “I need some uppers. You got any?” Elio laughed and shook his head. “Fuck. Uh,” Jason paused for a moment, thinking. “Want to go to Oakland?”

“What’s in Oakland?”

“A dealer I know, Madame D. She usually has some pretty good speed. You ever tried it before?”

Elio hadn’t, but he was curious, young, and living on his own. Isn’t experimentation just like this what university is for? “Yeah,” he lied. “That sounds great right now. Let’s go.”

20 minutes later they were pulling up to a gate surrounding Mother’s Cookie Factory. Elio just laughed, “What the fuck? You really have the munchies if you think you can eat your way through an entire factory.” Jason cackled at that and rolled down his window and punched in a 6 digit code to a keypad, prompting the gate to roll away.

He drove the car through a little ways and parked near a door in the back. “You have to wait here,” Jason said as he climbed out.

“What? No way,” Elio argued as he unbuckled his seatbelt.

“Sorry, man. They don’t know you, so they’re not gonna let you go in. Rules are rules.” Elio rolled his eyes, but nodded. “I’ll be back in a few minutes with some of the best speed you’ve had in your life.”

Elio fiddled with the radio for awhile and tried not to think of Oliver and sink into melancholy again. Uppers might a good idea after all.

True to his word, Jason was back within 15 minutes. “I got some good shit tonight. You’re gonna love it.” He flung himself into the car and grabbed a CD case from the floor in the backseat. He placed it on the dashboard before digging in his jacket pocket, producing a small bag of white powder and a short plastic straw. He tapped out the contents of the bag onto the CD case before carefully preparing two lines. “You want to go first?” he asked, offering the straw. Elio shook his head, wanting to watch how it was done before it was his turn, “No, you go ahead. You did all the work, you should go first.”

Jason grinned, put the straw to his nose, and snorted in one of the lines. He froze for a minute, letting the drug enter his system before he started laughing. “Fuck! Fuck, that is so good.”

Elio wasn’t even nervous as he took the straw from his friend. He slowly lowered his head and took his line. The effect was instant… just pure bliss. The high was incredible, like nothing he had ever felt. Everything, just everything fell away. He felt good, about himself, about his life, and his choices that lead him to this moment. He forgot about Oliver on the other side of the country. Oliver who he was always so aware of, was suddenly no trouble to him anymore. Nothing mattered except this moment and how he was feeling with this drug coursing through his veins. This is what had been missing. This could fill that hole in him that had been there since Oliver had left. This was everything.

He turned to his friend and saw him gripping the steering wheel, a blissed out expression on his face. “What the hell is this? What do you call it?”

“It’s crystal meth.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! These two stories seemed like they could naturally crossover, inspiration clearly helped along by Timothee playing both of these roles. This story will delve more into Nic's story than the movie did, so brace yourselves. There was a lot that the movie left out, some that was not surprising, though some that really was surprising to me. This is my chance to rectify that a bit!
> 
> There's a chance I'm going to tweak the time of this story a bit - CMBYN is set in either 1983 or 1987, depending on movie or book, while Nic first tried crystal meth in 2001. Essentially, I'll decide later if I want them to have cellphones and email or not. These technologies play a role in Nic's story though, so the likelihood is high. ***Edit* Decision made. The main part of this story begins in 2001 (with their summer together and phone call in 2000). I found a need for technology the 80s didn't provide.**
> 
> Title from Hurt by Nine Inch Nails
> 
> The details from the meth scene and the final lines were taken from Nic's article from The Fix, ["My Life As a Teenage Meth Head"](https://www.thefix.com/content/i-was-a-teenage-meth-head-nic-sheff-10010?page=all)


	2. Day 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angst, angst, angst

Elio’s flight landed in Milan at 7:00 AM. He hadn’t ended up going to bed before his flight the day before, kept awake by the drugs flowing through his system. He was astounded by how long they lasted, not expecting at all to have to board his flight at 6:30 in the morning feeling the effects of the meth in his body, still going strong and lasting for the first half of the flight. He’d had 12 blissful hours with that hole in him filled, without a care in the world.

The comedown was awful and hit him hard. As good as the drug had made him feel, when it left him, he had never felt worse, more depressed and miserable than he thought possible. He blocked it out by falling into a deep sleep, slumped against the window. Still, by the time he was off the plane, arms thrown around his parents in a warm embrace, he was utterly exhausted.

The plan was to stay in Milan for two days, while his father finished up some work, before packing up and heading to their home in Crema for the remainder of Elio’s time in Italy. That had given Elio two days to find more crystal meth. He’d assumed Crema was too small a place to find it, and besides, he didn’t need anyone there who knew him finding out and letting it get back to his parents. Milan, though, had just what he wanted, and it wasn’t even that hard to find. He didn’t take it though, didn’t need to. Not yet. But he liked knowing it was there. He felt the weight of the featherlight bag in his pocket, thought about it endlessly when he tucked it into the bottom of his suitcase that he loaded into the boot of their car the next morning as the readied themselves for the drive, dreamed about how wonderful and whole it had instantly made him feel. He could chase that feeling forever.

He took a line within an hour of setting foot inside their Crema home.

Back in that house, he was once again haunted by the ghost of Oliver, but now also consumed by thoughts of crystal meth and how it just takes everything away. It was what he had been missing his entire life. He thought he had found everything with Oliver, but then Oliver had left, leaving him emptier than he had been before. But the crystal… He needed it. Far more than he needed anything or anyone else.

On the last day of Hanukkah, Elio had snorted in a line of the drug just after lunch. Samuel and Annella were draped across each other on the couch reading while Elio played the piano, a bit manically, spurred on by the crystal, playing sections to death, unable to focus on anything else until it was absolutely perfect. Thankfully, this wasn’t _entirely_ out of the ordinary, so his parents hadn’t caught on to the fact that his mania was a bit more energetic than it normally would be. They were wrapped up in their reading, oblivious to Elio’s leg bouncing, unable to hold it still while his hands flew across the keys.

The phone rang. Elio played on.

Samuel kissed his wife on the temple and got up to answer the phone. “Pronto? Oh, Oliver! It’s so good to hear from you.” Elio had stopped playing the moment he heard Oliver’s name, keeping his back turned away from his father, hands still resting on the keys. “Yes, happy Hanukkah to you too!” He exchanged a knowing glance with his wife before glancing at his son, frozen at the piano. “Yes, we’re all here - Annella and I were just reading while Elio played for us on the piano.” Elio spun around on his stool, finally still, and held his father’s gaze. Samuel silently motioned to Elio, asking if he would like to talk with Oliver. Elio turned his head away, thinking, feeling the drugs in him spurring him on. “That’s wonderful to hear. I can’t wait to read it when it’s finished.” He laughed at whatever Oliver responded with. “Well, no, getting to write your first one here was a treat. Not every book is like that.” Elio heard the clear suggestion in one side of the conversation that Oliver wanted to come back here. He rolled his eyes at the audacity, simultaneously willing Oliver back to Italy and into his arms. He walked over to his father and nodded his head, reaching for the phone.

“Listen, Elio would like to catch up with you, so I’ll let you go. Please send me a copy of your new book when it’s done. Annella says hello. Here’s Elio.” He passed the phone over to his son, cupping his cheek in his palm affectionately, in support, and then left the room with Annella to give Elio privacy.

Elio put the phone to his ear, but didn’t say a word. Just breathed, in and out, immediately regretting the decision to speak with this man who had betrayed him.

“Elio?” Oliver asked, after long moments of silence.

Elio was so angry, hearing that voice again. “How’s the wife?” He bit out, a bit harsher than originally intended, but ultimately pleased by his savage tone.

Oliver paused for a beat. “We’re — we’re not married yet. Her father got sick a few months ago so we’ve postponed until he’s recovered.”

“Well, I hope he gets better soon so you can still have your perfect life. Wouldn’t want him dying on you and messing that up.”

Oliver paused again before saying, “Elio, are you okay?”

“I’m perfectly fine,” he replied curtly, a cruel smile on his face he hoped Oliver could hear through his voice.

“You don’t seem like yourself. I know you’re upset, but beyond that, this doesn’t seem like you, to be so… cold.”

Elio laughed bitterly, “What do you know? You knew me for six weeks. You don’t know me at all.”

“I know you better than anyone,” Oliver pressed. “What’s going on?”

Elio knew it was true. Oliver knew every part of him. “You don’t know me at all,” he repeated, more forcefully.

“Oliver…”

“No!” Elio growled. “You don’t get to say that to me anymore. Not ever. You gave that up when you decided to give me up, when you decided to get married. We haven’t even spoken in a year — that is the _last_ thing you’re allowed to say to me.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Elio huffed out a breath of disbelief. “For everything. For the last year, I’m sorry.” Oliver sounded genuinely remorseful to Elio, but it couldn’t fix anything.

“You really fucked me up, you know?” he responded, mercilessly.

Oliver let out a harsh breath, as though he had been punched. “I didn’t mean to. I never wanted that. For either of us, but especially not you.”

“Yeah, well, it happened.” Oliver didn’t even know the half of it, didn’t know about the drugs coursing through his veins just so he could feel normal again.

“What—“ Oliver began, before Elio cut him off.

“This was a mistake. We shouldn’t have talked.”

“I don’t want to not talk, Elio. Not talking clearly didn’t help.”

“That’s not really up to you to decide. In fact, I’ve had enough of your decisions for one lifetime.” He hung up.

Fuck. His heart was racing, tears threatening to spill over as he pressed the heels of his hands hard against his eyes. He needed to calm down, but couldn’t with the meth running hard through his veins. But something else, something to settle him down. He could find that. Something to take this all away, this pain. Weed didn’t sound sufficient enough. He wanted something stronger, harder, quicker. He thought carefully… It seemed stupid, one of those drugs he was always warned about, but… what he knew about heroin, about its effects…. You could find heroin anywhere, even in tiny Crema, if you looked in the right places. And that sounded like it could be just what he needed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The descent begins...
> 
> In reality, I don't think the Perlmans would be nearly this clueless as to what their son was doing, but for the purposes of the story, at this point, they must be.
> 
> Also, just like Nic Sheff, meth makes Elio nasty and mean when it suits him to be. You see a lot of that in David Sheff's memoir.
> 
> I'd also like to take this time to point out, I don't deal with addiction personally, nor do I directly know someone who does, so literally all of this is made up or gleamed from research on the internet or the two memoirs. The neighborhood FBI surveillance van probably thinks I'm super interested in picking up a crystal meth habit. But in all seriousness, if I ever get anything significantly wrong, please tell me.
> 
> We'll get a significant time jump in the next chapter - 6 months forward into Elio's addiction.


	3. Day 193

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Decision made. This story takes place in Nic's timeline, starting in 2001 when he tried meth for the first time. We're now in 2002. I found a reason to need better technology than the 80s provided. I've updated the notes in the first chapter just to clarify for new readers.
> 
> My one plea with you, dear reader, is that you ignore for the rest of this story that they're just making international calls from cell phones as often as they like without any concern for the cost or without international calling cards.... just go with it... :)

“I can’t believe you dropped out of school.”

Elio had officially dropped out a week before. The drugs had left little time for anything else, let alone the demands of obtaining a college education at a school like UC Berkeley. Since then he had made his way into San Francisco and had been sleeping in a crowded youth hostel near the Tenderloin, when sleep was even possible, binging on both meth and heroine, and smoking the occasional joint as well which made him hallucinate; green and pink streaks in the air, spiders crawling through the trees.

“I mean, you had this great opportunity,” Oliver continued, “and then you throw it all away for this?” He leaned back on the park bench they were seated on, shaking his head in disappointment. Elio inhaled sharply at the shame that hit deep in his core.

“I didn’t know you cared so much,” Elio responded curtly.

“Elio,” Oliver whispered, with so much care in his voice. Elio had never been more embarrassed. He hated himself for letting Oliver see him like this.

“You don’t know what it’s like,” Elio argued, getting up and walking away. Oliver fell in step beside him. “You don’t know this feeling, so of course you wouldn’t understand why I chose this.”

“There are other things in life besides this, Elio.”

“What, like love and marriage? How’s that working out for you?”

“We’re very happy together.” They must live perfect, boring lives. Elio wanted none of it.

“Then why are you here with me? Go home to her,” he snarled.

“You could find someone,” Oliver suggested. “Build a life together.”

“I don’t want anyone.” _Except you_ , his mind supplied. “Not even you.” Hurt flashed across Oliver’s face.

“So you’ve chosen drugs, is that it? This is what you’re going to do with your life now?”

“Yep,” Elio responded, letting the “p” pop loudly.

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. You’re smarter than this.” Elio had never felt more stupid.

“I like how they make me feel.”

“So hedonistic,” Oliver scoffed. Elio grinned, but Oliver didn’t return the smile. “You _need_ to stop.”

“You don’t understand, Oliver!” Elio shouted suddenly. “You don’t understand what it’s like living without the drugs. They help me so much to just… deal with life.”

“ _Help_ you? Elio, look at you! You’ve dropped out of school, you’re sleeping in a ramshackle hostel, and you’ve been dodging your family for months. You’re out of control!”

“I’m completely in control. I can stop whenever I want. Whenever _I_ want, not when _you_ want,” he sneered.

“Seriously, Elio. You’re ruining your life.”

“Don’t be so dramatic,” Elio scoffed.

“Son?”

Elio blinked. Confused. He heard the word, but it didn’t come from Oliver’s mouth. He blinked hard and focused on Oliver’s mouth again.

“Son, can you hear me?”

Oliver’s mouth hadn’t moved. Elio couldn’t breath for a moment, not understanding. He felt a firm grasp on his wrist. He inhaled sharply and snapped his head to the side and with wide eyes, gazed up at the police officer holding his arm. He looked back at Oliver, still standing there, watching it all happen without any protest.

“I need you to calm down right now,” the police officer said sharply. “What’s your name?”

“What —“ Elio looked to the officer once more, trying to tug his arm away.

“Stop fighting me,” the officer said firmly, keeping his grip, “or I’ll be forced to arrest you.”

“You aren’t going to do anything?” he shouted at Oliver, who just continued to look on. Elio glared at him. “I haven’t done anything,” he directed at the officer.

“You’ve been pacing up and down the block having an argument with yourself. You’re scaring people.”

“I’m not arguing with myself,” Elio insisted. “Oliver—“ he turned back to Oliver, but he was gone. “No… no, he was here.” He looked around frantically, but the man was nowhere to be seen. “Oliver? Where —“

“There’s no one here right now but you and me. What have you taken?”

“Please, you have to have seen him. Please tell me he was here,” Elio pleaded, eyes welling with tears. “He has to have been here.”

The police officer sighed, compassion on his face. “Is there someone we can call to come and get you?” Elio just nodded, feeling weak and exhausted. The officer pressed further, “Do you have a phone?” Elio nodded again, a tear sliding down his cheek as he dug in his pocket for his cell phone, handing it to the officer. “Who are we going to call?”

“Um— my dad?”

The officer searched through the contacts until he found one that said _Papa_ and dialed.

***

“Dad, please don’t leave me here,” Elio plead, clutching the straps of his backpack tight enough to turn his knuckles white. “I want to come home.”

“This is the best place for you, Elio.”

“Please, I’ll stop. I promise. Please, I don’t need to do this.”

“You can’t come home, Elio. There isn’t a place for you there.”

“But I don’t belong here!”

“Elio,” Samuel said calmly, “we’ll figure this out. But right now, you need to stay here.”

“Why can’t I come back to Italy at least?”

“This is where we could get you in the fastest. It’s a good place. They’ll be able to help you.”

The rehab was in an old Victorian mansion in the city with threadbare carpet, a creaking staircase, and room after room full of beds, enough beds to fit the fifty or so men that inhabited the building. Elio was sick at the thought of being left alone here with these people. He couldn’t stop shaking. He noticed his father, too, seemed to be trembling, his eyes red from crying.

After the police officer had called him, Samuel was on the next available flight to San Francisco, Annella left at home, frantically researching the best rehabilitation centers in Italy and America. He called Elio as soon as he landed and directed his cab to the hostel his son told him he was at. He found him in a park nearby, strung out. Samuel wept at the sight of his son, high, gaunt, and unrecognizable before him. Five days later, they stood in the entry of the rehab, with Elio desperate to leave.

“I don’t _need_ help,” he argued. “I made a mistake, but I can stop!”

“This isn’t negotiable. Do the program and then we’ll talk about next steps after. See if we can get you back into school, or maybe you want to come home. But until then, you have to be here.”

“Elio?” someone said off to the side. They both turned and saw a man who presumably worked there judging by the fake smile plastered on his face and the clipboard in his hands. “Your first group session is about to start in a few minutes. Would you like to follow me?”

“Ti prego, non lasciarmi,” Elio begged his father.

Samuel gripped Elio’s shoulders, unconditional love in his eyes, “Listen to me. This isn’t you. This doesn’t control you. Do the work, get clean, stop this, and you can come home. Call me and your mother whenever you’re able and we’ll see you in a month, okay? We’ll both come and we can talk about what to do next.” Elio nodded miserably before Samuel wrapped his arms around him. “You are so strong. Never forget that. A moment of weakness doesn’t diminish how truly incredible you are.” Elio held on tighter, unwilling to let his father go. “I love you, Elio.”

“I love you too, Dad.”

***

Elio was certain that he didn’t belong with these people, until he actually heard them tell stories so similar to his. The details of their stories weren’t so important, but rather the feelings behind why they started using. That feeling of isolation, not belonging, of not knowing how it all works. Feeling like the rest of the world perfectly understood exactly what they were doing, whereas he didn’t have a clue. Until the drugs. Everything made sense with them.

Every day brought session after session of group therapy, education on sober living, substance abuse, and the twelve steps. It was non-stop. And yet, Elio had no desire to change, no desire to give up the drugs. The drugs relieved him of all feelings of isolation, all worries and cares. Why would he ever give that up?

He thought of his parents, his wonderful parents, who he had been ignoring for months. Dodging their calls and not returning their messages, being vague about how school was going when he did actually talk to them. The guilt of it all was overwhelming, so he just medicated the feeling with more drugs. But now, he could do this program for them, say what he needed to say to make them proud and to not worry about him anymore.

So for the next thirty days, he attended his sessions, appeared to be showing progress toward staying sober long term, learning and going through the 12-step program. He called his parents when he could, told them how great and healthy he was feeling, how sorry he was, little stories about some of the friends he had made. His mother cried from joy when they came to visit and he told them he was going to move into the halfway house that was part of the rehab that very night. His eyes were bright as he told them that staying there would be his best chance of staying clean, that he wasn’t ready to go just yet. They would give him a job and he would attend meetings so he could keep busy and away from temptation. They agreed and hugged him tight, whispering words of love and pride in his ear.

Three days later, Elio relapsed and was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _“Ti prego, non lasciarmi" - Please, don't leave_  
> 
> The timeline of drug use here is slightly different than Nic's. He didn't start using heroin until he went to college in Massachusetts, after he had already been sober for awhile and then relapsed. But eh, let's have Elio start off strong.
> 
> "I got thrown into my first treatment center when I was eighteen. I had been doing meth for only about six months, but already my life had begun falling apart. I dropped out of college and ended up having a sort of breakdown - wandering the streets and talking to people who weren't there. I didn't really come out of it until a police car was pulling up beside me. The officer threatened to arrest me but eventually let me go." - Nic Sheff, Tweak, pg 17.
> 
> I thought these people Nic was talking to could be Oliver for Elio, as a good way to keep him in the story. I already have his first actual appearance, not on a phone call, planned, but I'm not sure how long it'll take to get there!
> 
> More details from this chapter about Nic's first stint in rehab are found from pages 17 and 18 in Tweak! 
> 
> Also I neglected to mention earlier, chapter titles are inspired from Tweak's chapter titles as well.
> 
> I live and breathe comments and kudos!


	4. Day 372

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Chapter warning - contains mention of prostitution.** It’s not graphic at all though, just talked about more than actually seen. Prostitution/hustling was a part of Nic Sheff's story that he was very insistent on telling, as detailed out a bit in his article ["Going Gay for Pay"](https://www.thefix.com/content/gay-pay-meth-addiction-nic-cheff8899) from The Fix. I knew they weren't going to include this in the movie Beautiful Boy, since that movie is primarily focused on David's perspective and he didn't know about the hustling until he read Nic's book. But this is just one part of why I thought the movie was a bit sanitized, while also totally understanding why it wasn't included.
> 
> So now this is part of our dear Elio's story. I dreaded writing this chapter... I couldn't even start it for the longest time, but I just knew it had to be included and finally mustered up the will-power to do it today.

Elio woke just after dawn and crept silently out of the bed he had shared last night. His money was on the nightstand next to the nameless man who was still snoring softly. He had been nice enough, even letting Elio stay there for the night in his tiny, grubby apartment and take a hot shower, but Elio would never see him again. He had only slept with him for the cash. And the validation.

The first time had been innocuous enough – just a simple blow job in exchange for $10. Four days before that, Elio, broke and unable to support his crystal meth habit, had sobbed himself to sleep on a park bench. His life was a mess, his body was wrecked from the drugs and lack of food, and self-loathing consumed every sober moment. Who would want him like this? Who could possibly find anything desirable about Elio Perlman now? And then this man had come along, stared at Elio’s mouth and offered him money. Elio had hesitated but the look in that man’s eyes – heat, desire – had been enough for him to drag the guy into a nearby alley and fall to his knees. The pills he had been able to buy after had really just been a bonus.

He needed the men to make him feel good about himself, to feel wanted. He needed the drugs to stop caring about it all. So he started hustling.

It wasn’t even real sex at first, just blow jobs and hand jobs, but then one particularly cold night a guy had suggested they go back to his apartment. Elio, shivering, thought about it for a brief moment before naming his price. He had felt sick the moment the man had entered his body, but he grit his teeth through it. The nausea continued well after they were done, cash shoved in his pocket, and it had nothing to do with the soreness he felt in his body. He hadn’t been touched like that since Oliver and now this stranger was all over him, inside of him. The knot in his stomach was unbearable. But the great thing about crystal meth is that it just made him not care anymore. About any of it. About the shame, about the pain. There was just nothing but him and that beautiful drug.

It got easier after that first time. He tried not to think too hard about it, about what his friends and family would think if they knew what he was doing for money.

***

His phone rang as he walked down the street, _Papa_ coming up on the screen. His daily call. He ignored it, as he had done for most of the last 5 months, shoving it back into his pocket. Elio had tried rehab one more time at the behest of his pleading parents before deciding it was a waste of time for him. He just couldn’t handle it. It didn’t work. If he wanted to get sober, he would, on his own. But he didn’t want to go back to Italy either. He couldn’t bear going back and having to explain what happened, why he had dropped out of college. So, unable to get Elio back on a plane to Italy, Samuel had taken a visiting professorship position at UC Berkeley for the year so he and Annella could be closer to him, to try to help him in any way that he could. The irony was not lost on any of them that he was working at the university Elio would have failed out of if he had not dropped out first.

The move was just one more thing for Elio to feel guilty about – taking his parents away from their home, even if it was supposed to be temporary – but he just couldn’t go back to Italy with them just to end up in rehab again. He had crashed with them for a little while after they had moved, ignoring the disappointment in his parents’ eyes the best he could. He didn’t stay with them very long. Long enough for that one more stint in rehab before he had just had enough. He called them for money every so often, but was always refused. He begged, telling them it was just for food, for a place to stay for a little while, but they wouldn’t budge. They offered him rehab or nothing.

So he took nothing. Which led to turning tricks – making just enough money to get high and not starve, sometimes subsisting on only a Snickers bar for the day, other times scrounging through trash cans for anything edible when the hunger was too much to bear.

He occasionally wondered if Oliver knew what had happened to him. He knew he kept up regular email correspondence with his father, but had no idea what he had been told. Had his father been forthcoming? Detailing out exactly what drugs he was taking, that he was living on the streets, refused to go to rehab. Had he been vague? Alluding to Elio having a tough time recently but would find his way eventually. Or was he just completely silent about the whole matter? He didn’t want to ask.

Elio loathed those sober moments when he cared.

***

Elio shuffled through the Castro, scouring the sidewalk for any dropped cash or half smoked cigarettes, when he spotted the son of an old family friend at one of the theaters. Christopher was a stage actor but Elio hadn’t known he was in San Francisco — last he heard it was New York. He and his parents would visit them in Italy every few years, the last time being three years ago. He wasn’t even sure Christopher would recognize him like this. He was chatting animatedly with the people around him in the lobby after his show, a cocktail in his hand, when he noticed Elio in return, his eyes widening in recognition. He excused himself and ducked outside to greet Elio, wrapping his arms around him in a big hug. Elio felt his cheeks warm, a bit embarrassed; his clothes were torn, his hair shaggy, and he hadn’t been able to hustle his way into a shower in over a week.

“Elio!” Christopher exclaimed, utterly shocked by the frail boy in front of him. “My God, how did this happen to you?” He stepped back, holding onto Elio’s arms to get a good look at him.

“Hi Christopher,” Elio replied softly.

“I can’t believe you’re here,” Christopher offered him a cigarette that Elio gratefully took. “I remember visiting your family in Italy for the first time, God that was so long ago, and you were this happy kid, unbelievably smart. I swear you could do anything, I was so jealous.”

“I remember that, yeah,” Elio nodded, taking a drag off the cigarette, melancholy for what he had lost.

“I looked up to you so much; you read all those books, and the way you could play piano was just unbelievable. So what happened? Last I heard you were heading to college.”

“College didn’t really work out.”

“Elio,” Christopher pressed.

Elio took a deep breath and scratched at the back of his neck. “Yeah, it’s um… it’s crystal meth. I kind of wish I had never tried it, you know?”

“You want to quit?”

“I guess. I think I need to.”

“Listen, why don’t you come back to New York with me? You can move into my apartment and we’ll get you sorted out, get you clean. We’ll find you a job and your own place to stay when you’re ready.”

New York. New York meant Oliver. Could he risk Oliver seeing him like this? It’s a big city, but he’s always heard about how small it really is and how easy it is to run into people you know. He just couldn’t bear for Oliver to witness his wreck of a life.

But if he got off the hard drugs? And Christopher was offering to help him do just that, but not forcing him to go to rehab. He could stop hustling. Get an actual job maybe, learn how to be a normal person again.

“I don’t have any money….”

“Don’t worry about that, I’ve got you covered.” Elio nodded, so grateful that he had run into him. “Listen, I have to get back inside, but I’m flying out on the red eye tomorrow night. I’ll book you a ticket too. I’m staying at the Four Seasons a few blocks over – meet me there tomorrow morning at 10:00? I’ll leave your name at the front desk.” Elio nodded again. “You’re going to be okay, I promise.”

Elio went out that night after contacting his dealer and spent all of his money on meth and pills. He spent the rest of the evening blissed out of his mind, thinking of New York.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Details from this chapter are from page 57-59 of Tweak. Nic's friend who he met up with was called JT, but I, obviously, changed that. Nic doesn't go into a lot of details of his New York days in the book, at least not that trip, so I'll mostly be on my own for the next chapter, while also deviating from Nic's timeline a bit.


	5. Day 373

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Longer chapter for you guys! This will probably be my last one for the year, while I’m off on vacation for Christmas! 
> 
> Also, if anyone is actually interested, the date of this very first bit, day 373, is 12/20/2002 (Day 1 was arbitrarily chosen as 12/12/2001). I was going to make them all emotional that Elio is leaving SF right before Christmas, and then I remembered nope. They’re Jewish and Hanukkah already passed by this point in 2002.

The hotel doormen refused Elio entrance, blocking his way in, despite Elio’s insistence. He argued that he was meeting his friend, that his name was left with the front desk, he was expected, but they wouldn’t budge. He could hardly blame them for not believing him. Elio was scraggily, stinking, and still coming down from his high from his binge the previous night. He didn’t look like he had any business being at the hotel, but he wouldn’t back down. Eventually frustrated, one of them went to the front desk to ask if there really was an “Elio Perlman” being expected by one of their guests. He returned a few minutes later, embarrassed. They apologized profusely to both him and Christopher when he came down to collect Elio. Elio shook them off, again, not really blaming them for the mistake.

“So the flight is at 5:00, but we need to get there a couple hours early,” Christopher explained as he unlocked the door to his suite. “Security is hell these days. Here, do you want a bagel? I went out a little earlier and grabbed some for us.”

“Yeah,” Elio was suddenly famished, and grabbed a bagel, already loaded with cream cheese, out of the paper bag Christopher offered him. “Thank you again, for all of this.”

“I’m happy to help. Here’s a coffee too if you want it. Did you tell your parents you’re coming to New York with me?”

“Er… no,” Elio looked away. “My phone is dead so I couldn’t call them,” he lied. True, his phone was _dying_ , and definitely needed to be charged, but he could have told them. He was trying to avoid the conversation entirely even though he knew he needed to tell them he was leaving San Francisco.

“Well, you could charge it now. Maybe take a shower while you’re waiting? I have some clothes you could borrow. They won’t fit perfect, but I think they’ll do. I have a quick errand to run, but I’ll be back in about half an hour. Are you going to be okay on your own here for a bit?” Elio nodded, grateful for the solitude.

After Christopher left, he plugged in his phone and poked around the suite for a minute, opening drawers and cupboards, not looking for anything, but just looking at everything, like he did in every hotel room he stayed in. He took a long, indulgent shower, scrubbing every inch of his body and then just standing under the hot water, warmer than he had been in weeks. He dressed, Christopher’s clothes not quite the right size, but close enough. He savored the way the clean fabric felt against his clean skin as he toweled off his curls.

When Elio finally emerged from the bathroom, Christopher had already returned.“Hey, man. You call your parents yet?”

“Not yet. I was just about to,” he feigned. If Christopher hadn’t asked him again, Elio wouldn’t have called at all. Christopher closed the door to the bedroom to give Elio a little privacy for the call while he finished packing.

Elio stared at his phone for a long time before finally mustering up the courage to dial his father’s number. He picked up after the second ring.

“Elio?”

“Hi, dad,” Elio responded. “How are you? How’s mom?”

“I’m okay,” Samuel said before pulling the phone away from his mouth for a moment and calling for his wife, his voice a little farther away in Elio’s ear. “We’re both good. How are you?”

“I’m good too. I have some news.”

“News?” Samuel asked, unable to keep the hope out of his voice.

“Yeah, I ran into Christopher last night and um, he offered to let me stay with him in New York for a while. While I get back on my feet.” There was no response on the other end of the line for a long moment. “Dad?”

“Do you really think that’s the best idea for you right now?”

Elio huffed out an exasperated breath. “I’m not going to rehab if that’s what you’re suggesting.”

“Elio,” Annella chimed in, “why don’t you come home for a few days and we can discuss this.”

“There’s nothing to discuss. I already have a ticket to New York.”

“What is New York going to offer you that we cannot offer to you here?”

“I don’t know— just,” Elio clenched his eyes shut, frustrated. “A fresh start. There’s too many memories here, too much— I’ll never be able to stay clean here. It’s too easy to get drugs.”

“It’s not going to be harder in New York, Elio. You can’t do this on your own,” Samuel reasoned.

“I’m not on my own. I have Christopher.”

“You can’t put this on him, Elio,” Annella argued.

“I’m not putting anything on him! He offered!”

Samuel sighed, “Will you put Christopher on the phone at least? I would like to speak with him.”

“No, I’m not putting him on the phone so you can talk about me behind my back.”

“Elio, that’s not—“

“Can we just try this, please? I tried it your way, I tried rehab, and it didn’t work. Let me try it my way. I know I can do this, I can stay clean, but I need to get out of here to do it.”

He could almost hear his parents exchange worried glances with each other. “You can’t shut us out anymore, Elio. We _miss_ you.” And just like that, he knew his parents had accepted his proposal.

“I miss you too,” Elio mumbled sincerely. “I’ll call. I promise.” He knew that he actually meant it too. He genuinely missed his parents but he just couldn’t deal with them when he was high. But if he got sober, he’d get them back again.

Elio eventually hung up before he snuck into the bathroom and took his last bit of speed. After all, he planned on getting sober in New York, not San Francisco, and he didn’t want to be wasteful.

***

Elio kept busy in New York by drinking too much coffee, smoking too many cigarettes, and devouring any book he could get his hands on. He reasoned that if he could keep his mind and his shaking hands occupied with something else, he could stay away from the drugs. He was restless and plagued with insomnia, but, incredibly, staying away from the drugs. On his second day in the city, Elio managed to get a job as a barista in a small coffee shop down the block from Christopher’s apartment. The pay wasn’t great, but it helped to fill his time. He called his parents with the news; they boisterously congratulated him, though Elio knew it was just because they could tell he was actually sober and kept his promise to call them.

“What do you think about going to an AA meeting?” Christopher asked him over dinner, a week after Elio had moved in.

Elio furrowed his brow. “I’m not an alcoholic,” he replied a bit defensively.

“I know that,” Christopher assured, “but don’t they cover more than just alcohol at those meetings?”

“I have no idea.” Elio had absolutely zero interest in going or continuing their conversation.

“Look, I know you don’t want to do rehab, and I’m not going to force you to do that. But I think it might be a good idea to just go check it out. At the very least it would give you something to do.”

“I don’t know…”

“I could go with you if you wanted?”

That sounded even worse. He didn’t need Christopher getting such an intimate glimpse into his pathetic life, he didn’t need Christopher to be around other people like him, magnifying his problem with their own. “No, that’s okay. I can go on my own.” Shit, he thought as Christopher started telling him about a few meetings he had found in the area. Had he really just agreed to go to AA?

***

The following evening after work, Elio lingered around the corner, waiting until the last possible moment to walk into the building, timing it perfectly so he didn’t have to make small talk with anyone else there before the meeting started. He slunk into a seat in the very back of the room, trying to remain unnoticed. The chairman at the front read off some announcements written on pink index cards and then asks if there are any first timers. A few people raised their hands and introduced themselves. Elio did not.

The chairman then introduced their speaker for the evening, a woman named Susan, who had reached 90 days sober that day. She told her story of how she started drinking young, eventually increasing the stakes to a cocaine addiction. She drank heavily and took drugs for over a decade before she got in a bad car accident three months ago. “I wasn’t even driving, so it’s not exactly that kind of wake up call. I wasn’t a drunk driver, merely a drunk passenger,” she laughed a little at her own comment. “It was just a random accident, the other driver lost control of their car and plowed into us. But it made me realize that I didn’t want to die a drunk. I didn’t want to die at all. And I knew that the way I was living wasn’t going to end in a long life well lived. I could die at any moment — that’s what I learned after the accident. So I have to live the best I can right now, because I might not be able to tomorrow.”

The room applauded as she finished and walked back to her seat. Elio couldn’t help himself, but he had been struck by her story, by her honesty. He couldn’t believe that this room of strangers could be so open and honest with each other, without any fear of judgment. Elio felt so judged by everyone else in his life, but here, maybe he wouldn’t be judged by these people.

So he kept going back. Not every day, but he decided to go least once or twice a week. He would show up to a meeting, sit in the back, and listen to these people just expose themselves and their lives, a little in awe of their vulnerability. At his fourth meeting, he got the courage up to finally introduce himself when the chairman asked if there were any newcomers. Just as he was about to raise his hand and speak, the door opened and Elio watched an absolutely gorgeous guy walk in. He had jet black hair, clear blue eyes, and five o’clock shadow. He made eye contact with Elio and gave him a smile before taking a seat a few spots away from him. Elio cleared his throat and raised his hand at the chairman’s request for newcomers to introduce themselves, “Hi, I’m Elio and I’m kind of new here. I’ve come a few times but didn’t want to say anything before. But I thought today I might as well at least introduce myself tonight.” People clapped encouragingly and the guy looked over and smiled at him again, a friendly little smirk that Elio couldn’t help but instantly fall in love with.

“Would anyone like to share today?” the chairman asked.

The guy raised his hand, waiting until the chairman nodded at him before speaking in a beautiful southern drawl. “Hi everyone, my name is Foster and I’m an alcoholic and a drug addict. I almost used last night. I just— my boyfriend has been on a bender. He’s an alcoholic too, and when he drinks he gets really fucking mean. And last night I just didn’t want to go home and deal with his shit so instead I went looking for some crack. The only thing that stopped me, and you’re not going to believe this, but I was just about to walk up to my dealer when he got arrested. I mean, how close was that? So I just turned around and ended up walking the city for hours to avoid going home until Kyle was definitely asleep or at least passed out. I’m feeling a little more in control of my sobriety today, but it was a really close call.”

A chorus of voices rang out saying they were glad that Foster hadn’t used. Elio couldn’t take his eyes off him. He knew it was beyond stupid to be so attracted to someone from AA, who had to be at least a decade older than him, who would have used the previous night had fate not intervened, and who had an apparently abusive boyfriend, but Elio couldn’t help it. The little glances Foster threw his way every so often didn’t help either.

After the meeting, at which point Elio usually quickly ducked out, he lingered behind, hoping Foster might speak with him. Luck was on his side that night. “Hey, Elio, right?” Foster extended his hand out, which Elio gladly took, shaking it firmly. “Glad you came here tonight.”

“Yeah, me too.”

“So, what’s wrong with you then?” Elio couldn’t help a startled laugh at the blunt question.

“Crystal meth, primarily. A few other things thrown in.”

“Shit, man, crystal? You don’t mess around, do you?” Foster laughed, before offering Elio a cigarette, standing close to light it for him. He didn’t step away after and Elio didn’t mind at all.

“I know everyone already said it, but I’m glad you didn’t use last night,” Elio offered, mostly thinking that because then he probably wouldn’t have been at that meeting for Elio to meet. “Sorry about your boyfriend though.”

“I’m just really sick of it, all the drama, all the craziness. I love him, but I just can’t do it anymore. I know I need to leave him, but it just isn’t that easy, you know? But we’ve talked about Kyle too much already, tell me about you. You look pretty young, do you go to school?”

Elio shook his head, “Not right now. I was at Berkeley for a while before, well, you know. I just moved out here a couple weeks ago with a friend. Trying to stay clean right now to get back on my feet again.”

“Wow, Berkeley. You must be pretty smart then?”

“Well, maybe before I got into the drugs. I’m not so sure these days,” Elio smirked.

“Nah, you’re still smart. I can tell.” Elio blushed a little, enjoying the flirtation. “Listen, I’m sorry but I have to run. But I really hope I’ll see you around.”

“Yeah, me too. It was very nice meeting you.” They shook hands again as they said goodbye, holding on a little longer than necessary.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry Oliver isn’t even mentioned in this chapter. It was relatively intentional. I want to make sure that Elio’s addiction and sobriety isn’t centered around Oliver. So as a result he’s just not in this chapter. He’s actually going to make a real, in person appearance very soon though! Elio is finally in New York after all. Please bear with me and remember that I said slow burn!
> 
> Some of you might recognize Foster from Augusten Burrough’s memoir _Dry_. Once upon a time this was my favorite book of all time and I recently reread it for the first time in years. If you haven’t had a chance to read it, I highly suggest it. It’s my favorite of his memoirs and it’s all about his alcoholism and his first time getting sober. It’s an incredible book. Anyway, Foster will be taking the place of Zelda for those of you who have read _Tweak_. I thought it would be fun to add him in and so far he’s a surprisingly fun character to write, considering I was exceedingly distrustful of him (and rightly so) in _Dry_. He’ll be stirring up trouble and causing drama, so you’ll get to know him more throughout!
> 
> The AA scene is also inspired by _Dry_. Burroughs writes about his very first AA meeting, which is very similar to this one. He was more active and involved than Elio is though. Susan’s story is a little different than the one from the actually woman in Dry, but the point is the same. She didn’t want to die drunk and that empowered her to get and stay sober.
> 
> Also I couldn’t find a way to fit it in, but Elio is being a good son right now and calling his parents every other day to chat, even if it’s only briefly. They’re very pleased.


	6. Day 400

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can we all take a moment to thank Amazon for releasing Beautiful Boy on Prime video a day early yesterday? I literally stopped halfway through an episode of A Series of Unfortunate Events so I could watch that instead. Give Timothée all the awards please.

Elio went to a meeting every day that week in the hopes that he would see Foster again. It was on the fifth day in a row that the man finally showed up. Their eyes met and they shared a smile, before Foster sat down in the chair right next to him.   
   
“Well, fancy seeing you here,” Foster drawled. Elio adored his Southern accent.   
   
After the meeting, Foster asked Elio if he would like to grab some coffee, which he elatedly agreed to. He soaked up every bit of information about Foster that he could: he was thirty-three, didn’t need money, and had too much time on his hands. He had a small, meaningless job, just to fill the time. His boyfriend, Kyle, was physically abusive, and Foster was trying hard to convince him to move out.  
   
They talked for hours, about anything and everything — books, music, their sobriety, politics. Foster’s attention was held rapt as Elio described his upbringing, his family, Mafalda and Anchise, their home in Milan, the villa in Crema.  
   
“God, I wish I could see it. It sounds beautiful.”  
   
“It really is,” Elio smiled fondly, while thinking in the back of his head that maybe he could bring Foster there one day. A flash of Oliver’s face ran through his mind the moment he thought it, but he shook him away and focused again on the man in front of him that he was becoming more and more enamored with.  


***

“I might have met someone,” Elio told Christopher over dinner that night. “It’s a little complicated right now, but I really think there could be something there. Plus he’s devastatingly handsome.”   
   
Intrigued, Christopher asked, “Complicated how?”  
   
“Well, I met him at AA. And he has a boyfriend.”  
   
Christopher furrowed his brow. “And how is that going to work?”  
   
“It sounds like the boyfriend is on his way out. He doesn’t treat Foster well,” Elio smoothly softens the real story of abuse, “so he’s working on getting him to move out.”  
   
“Does this sound like a good situation for you to be in right now? You’ve been doing so well, you’ve been sober for nearly two months now. I just don’t want you to jeopardize that over this guy. He’s an addict. I don’t want you to get dragged down.”  
   
“I understand what you’re saying, but he’s been sober for six months and is really focused on staying that way right now, and so am I. I think we’ll be good for each other.”  
   
“Just be careful. Please,” Christopher advised.   


***

Soon Elio and Foster were seeing each other almost every single day, growing closer and more fond of each other with every passing moment.  Foster had quickly developed a lovely habit of calling Elio “baby.” The first time Foster had said it, Elio blushed so prettily that Foster nearly kissed him right then and there. Instead, their strong connection manifested itself in held hands, kisses pressed to cheeks, long embraces, and cuddles on the couch of Foster’s apartment while Kyle was at work. But it never went further, not while Kyle was still in Foster’s life. Elio was willing to wait while Foster figured it out; he knew they loved each other and Kyle couldn’t stand in the way of that forever.   
   
Three weeks later, at their usual Thursday meeting, Elio took his seat next to Foster who was grinning like the cat who got the canary. Amused and curious, Elio asked him what was going on. Foster merely replied, “After, baby,” before he slung an arm over the back of Elio’s chair and focused on the chairman at the front.  
   
After the longest hour of Elio’s life, Foster slipped his hand into Elio’s, entangling their fingers, and dragged him around the corner before finally revealing, “Kyle’s gone.”  
   
Elio, shocked, let the words sink in for a minute before his own grin spread wide across his face. “Are you serious?”  
   
“Yep, I finally kicked him out last night. He’s really gone.”  
   
Elio launched himself into Foster’s arms, hugging him tightly, “That’s so wonderful!”  
   
Foster laughed and swung Elio around, holding him close, “I feel so free. I can hardly believe it.”  
   
“We have to celebrate!”  
   
Foster ran a hand through Elio’s curls, smiled, and said, “I couldn’t agree more.” Then Foster finally kissed him.  
   
That night, after they had made love, their bodies tangled together in the sheets, Elio whispered to Foster for the first time, “I love you.” He had loved him immediately, from the moment he laid eyes on him, but now he could finally say it.  
   
Foster smiled warmly and whispered back, “I love you too, baby.”  
   
“I want to give you everything,” he murmured.  
   
“You don’t need to give me anything, Elio. I just want you.”  
   
“And you have me. Through everything, the good, the bad. Everything.”  
   
“Everything.”   
   
“I’ll be with you forever.”  
   
“Forever sounds perfect,” Foster breathed against Elio’s lips.  


***

After a blissful month together, his phone rang while he was at work. He recognized Foster’s number and excused himself for a break before answering. “Elio?” he heard Foster say, his voice slow and muted.   
   
“Foster, are you okay?”  
   
“No, I’m not okay. Baby, can you come over?”  
   
“Yeah, yeah, of course. Um, I’m at work but I’ll just explain it’s an emergency. I’ll be there soon.”  
   
When Foster answered the door, Elio knew immediately that he had relapsed. “Oh, Foster,” Elio whispered, wrapping his arms around the man. “What happened?”  
   
“Kyle came around yesterday, begging me to take him back,” Foster released Elio and flopped onto the couch, one hand over his eyes. “But when I wouldn’t, when I said I was with you, things got physical. He didn’t hurt me much, but he tried to. I managed to get him out and told him I called the cops so he left. And then I just… I don’t know. I was upset and needed a drink to take the edge off.”   
   
Elio looked around at the mess around them, empty beer bottles, littering the floor, and on the coffee table, a pipe and a few small bags, most empty, but one with a rock of crack cocaine. “And all this?”  
   
“Oh you know how it goes,” Foster drawled. He tugged on Elio’s wrist until he sat next to him, cuddling him close. “I’m sorry, baby.”  
   
“It’s okay,” Elio hushed, brushing Foster’s black locks back off his face. “We’ll get you to a meeting. You’ll be fine.”  
   
Foster shook his head and buried his face in Elio’s neck. “I don’t want to go to a meeting.”  
   
“Foster, please.”  
   
“I just, I feel like I need to do this right now. You understand that, right?”   
   
And Elio did understand that. He knew the feeling of needing to see a relapse through all the way. “Okay,” he nodded, rubbing Foster’s back. “Okay, we’ll do this.”  
   
“Baby, you don’t—“  
   
“I know, I want to. We said everything right? Every journey, we do it together. Even this.”  
   
“You really mean it?”  
   
“Of course I do. I love you, Foster.” He kissed him deeply before reaching for the pipe.  


***

“Are you sure you want to do this? You said you never had before.”  
   
“Yeah, the guy we bought from got me freaked out about my teeth. I don’t want meth mouth like him. It’s supposed to be better this way anyway,” he reasoned as he watched Foster prepare the needle for him.  
   
“Here, hold this,” Foster said, passing the needle full of crystal to him. “Now make a fist so I can find a vein.”  
   
Elio watched his every move as Foster tied a belt around his arm, needing to learn every step of this for the future. Next thing he knew, Foster was pressing the needle into his arm, drawing a small amount of blood into the syringe before pressing down, injecting the drug into Elio’s system.  
   
“Why did you…” Elio started to ask, wanting to learn properly, but it hit him so fast and so hard, that he couldn’t finish his sentence. He could only take a deep, gasping breath, and fall back against the couch, overwhelmed by how good he felt.  
   
Foster knew what he was asking though, “I had to make sure I had the vein,” he explained. “How are you feeling?”  
   
“God, so good. Are you coming with me?”  
   
“Right behind you, baby,” Foster replied as he grabbed a clean needle for himself.  


***

Two months later, Elio took too much.  
  
His tolerance for the drug was increasing, so he had been slowly increasing his dosage. The four months he had been clean had been wonderful for his tolerance in the beginning, but he caught back up to where he was quicker than he thought he would. Injecting had helped initially, the drug hit him harder, but eventually, even that wasn’t enough to get him high the way he needed. So little by little, he took more and more. He knew he was pushing the limits, but he also knew his body could handle it. It had handled everything else he had ever thrown at it, so why not just a little bit more?  
   
He and Foster were at some party, Elio didn’t know who had thrown it, but the drugs and alcohol were plentiful, so he didn’t care. He had been awake for a couple of days doing coke and crystal, drinking endlessly. Some muscular guy was talking to him, trying to pick him up despite Elio’s clear lack of interest. He took a long drink of his beer as he gazed at Foster on the other side of the room and thought about his life for a brief moment.  
   
If he was honest, he would say he was absolutely miserable. His rare moments of sobriety were absolute hell, which only lead to more drugs, more drinking, anything he could get his hands on. He wasn’t picky. High was high. Drunk was drunk. He didn’t care how he got there as long as he did.   
   
He thought about all he had lost. He had stopped calling his parents. They would know that meant he had relapsed. His job and his friendship with Christopher had imploded shortly after the night Foster had called him and he relapsed. He can’t remember the last time he played the piano — he thinks it’s been years, but he doesn’t really know. School had been an utter disaster, a wasted opportunity. He had picked up drawing a bit since he could do that high, but mostly his life was just about drugs. And Foster. Foster was a bright spot in all the darkness. His handsome face and his soft Southern voice that whispered beautiful things while they made love.  
   
He was getting too introspective; the drugs must be wearing off. He needed to not think too hard about his life and there was only one way to do that. He brushed off the clueless man who was still chatting his ear off, and made his way over to Foster. He wrapped his arms around his waist and leaned in to kiss his cheek. “I think I’m starting to come down.”  
   
Foster laughed, running a hand through Elio’s hair, “Well, we can’t have that.”  
   
“Will you shoot me up? I like it when you do it.”   
   
“Of course,” Foster replied easily and led him to the kitchen where he pulled a clean rig out his pocket. Elio prepared the crystal himself. He liked the methodical process of crushing the powder, mixing it in a spoon with water from the sink and heating it over a lighter, dropping the clean cotton in to filter it when he drew it up into the syringe. He passed the needle to Foster with a kiss. It took him a minute to find a vein in his needle mark ridden arm, but he eventually found one.  
   
Right away, Elio knew something was wrong. He gasped for breath and his vision started to go black. He could distantly hear Foster calling his name as he sagged into the man’s arms. He briefly noted the panic in Foster’s voice as he was lowered to the floor, but couldn’t bring himself to care. Bad as he knew this was, he was relieved. It seemed like it was all finally over.  


***

  His entire body ached, especially his ribs. Breathing was agony. His mouth tasted like vomit. And that beeping noise – could no one turn that off? It grated his nerves and he wished he had something to soothe them.  
   
He slowly opened his eyes to figure out what was going on. Maybe Foster knew. His stomached dropped and nausea overtook him as he looked around the hospital room and laid eyes not on Foster, but on Oliver. His Oliver, asleep in a chair next to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SO SORRY.
> 
> But also, hey! An actual sighting of Oliver! I've had this moment planned, that Elio would finally see Oliver again only after waking up in the hospital after an overdose, for so long and I've been itching to write it. In fact, I started writing the next chapter before I even started writing this one because I just couldn't wait any longer to get to that moment.
> 
> Foster from Augusten Burroughs' memoir _Dry_ always called Augusten "Auggie" and it drove me crazy. So if the babys are driving you crazy, I feel like I've done my job.
> 
> This relapse was loosely inspired by two moments in _Tweak_ and one from _Dry_ :
> 
>   * The first, Nic wrote that he stayed sober on this New York for a good few months, but when he relapsed, was worse than ever. I thought this would be a good time to introduce injecting to Elio, as well as an overdose.
>   * The second is later in the book where Zelda had been using for a while before Nic found out but then when he does, says "We're in this together" and relapses. So obviously Elio had to go along with the ride with Foster. Toxic relationship alert.
>   * The third, from _Dry_ , one of Foster's relapses in the book, if I recall correctly, kind of leads Augusten to one (or at least helped tip him over the edge into one - he already had another very significant reason to relapse. No spoilers!).
> 

> 
> Thank you so much for reading!


	7. Day 506

He had to be hallucinating. There was no possible way that Oliver was sitting there, sleeping in a chair that he had dragged close to his bed. He was beautiful, even with the dark circles under his eyes. Elio longed to run his fingers through his soft blond hair. He wished for nothing more than to have Oliver slowly blink awake, meet Elio’s gaze, and softly smile at him.  
   
But that could never happen. He belonged to someone else. Why was he here? Why would Oliver do this to him? Why would his parents do this to him? They had doubtlessly called Oliver, a trusted friend in New York, to stay with their son while they caught their own flight out. Elio couldn’t handle having Oliver see him like this. He never wanted Oliver to know about any of this. He had to get out of there, but there was no possible way for him to just slip out unnoticed. There were needles in his arms, he had been fit with a catheter, he was hooked up to beeping machines that would scream in alarm if he tampered with them. Not to mention the bruised or broken ribs from CPR that ached painfully with every breath.  
   
There was nothing for it, he had to leave, so he started pulling out everything that was attached to him. As expected, the machines’ alarms started going off, waking Oliver with a start. “Elio?” he said in a panic, too shocked by what he was seeing to try and still Elio’s hands; Elio remained focused on his task of disconnecting himself from everything tethering him to that bed, to that room. A nurse ran in just as Elio started to pull on the catheter. It burned and he howled in pain. “Elio, what are you doing?” Oliver shouted as the nurse pushed him out of the way.  
   
“Mr. Perlman, stop this immediately,” she said authoritatively.  
   
“Get this out of me!” Elio screamed right back, continuing to pull on the catheter, but it wouldn’t come out. It hurt so much, tears welled in Elio’s eyes, but he was determined to not spend another moment in that hospital if he could help it.  
   
“Sir, you need calm down,” the nurse argued loudly. “Your body experienced an extreme trauma, you need to recover.”  
   
“Get this goddamned thing out of me right now!” he spit, absolutely furious, his face streaked with tears from the pain as he continued to try to remove it himself by brute force.  
   
The nurse finally acquiesced, fearful for the further injury Elio was going to cause himself. The moment he was detached, he launched himself at the door, not even caring that he was only wearing a hospital gown. He could hear Oliver calling his name behind him, but he refused to look back. He couldn’t look Oliver in the eye after this. He had fallen so far and now Oliver knew.   
   
Two security guards stopped him before he could leave the hospital, blocking his path out the main door. “I’m sorry sir, but we can’t let you leave.”  
   
“You can’t fucking keep me here!”  
   
The nurse finally caught up with him, “Mr. Perlman, please, you need to return to your room right now.”  
   
“I’m not fucking going back. You can’t keep me here,” he yelled. He noticed Oliver standing a short distance away, a look of horror on his face. He had never seen Elio like this, manic and raging. He could never have even believed it was possible.  
   
“You’re trying to leave against medical advice – it’s not safe for you to be anywhere else but the hospital right now.”  
   
“I don’t care! I’m fucking leaving!” he argued, trying to push passed her and the security guards.  
   
The nurse finally conceded, a cold look in her eye. “Fine! But you have to sign some forms. Go get your things out of your room. Meet me back at the desk there when you’re done.” She pointed to a nurses’ station down the hall and then stormed off.  
   
Elio marched back to his room to change into his clothes and collect his things. He slammed the door in Oliver’s face when he tried to follow him in. “Elio,” Oliver called through the door. “You’re not seriously leaving, are you? Elio!” He continued to ignore him.  
   
He pushed his way through Oliver when he left his room, clothes and shoes back on, wallet and phone in his pockets. Oliver reached for him, but Elio expertly shook him off and bee-lined for the nurses’ station. The nurse held out a clipboard and a pen to him and explained, “This is an AMA form, acknowledging that you are discharging yourself against medical advice and that we, the hospital, are not responsible for anything that happens to you after you sign this.”  
   
Elio snatched it from her hands, signed it without reading it, and slammed it back on the desk. “Can I go now?” She didn’t respond, merely raised an eyebrow and gestured to the door dismissively.  
   
He turned to leave but Oliver blocked his way, gripping hard onto his shoulders, forcing Elio to finally look him in the eye. “Elio, you have to stop this. You can’t leave here, you just overdosed. Please let them help you, let  _me_  help you.”  
   
“Don’t you get it? I don’t want your help!” he snarled, enraged. He wrenched himself out of Oliver’s grasp and stalked toward the door.  
   
“Elio!” Oliver grabbed him once again but this time Elio, with all his strength, violently shoved Oliver away and hard into the wall, causing him to stumble to the ground.  
   
Elio felt a flash of guilt but quickly brushed it off, eyes cold once more, “Don’t fucking follow me.” He walked out the front door, and this time, no one stopped him.

***

A few blocks away, Elio stopped, grasped his aching ribs, and dialed Foster’s number, muttering “Pick up, pick up,” under his breath as it rang. The ringing stopped and he got Foster’s voicemail. “Foster, where are you? Please call me back. I really need you right now.” He trekked the short way back to Foster’s apartment, body weary, but determination pushed him forward. He had been fueled by pure adrenaline in the hospital, but now it was all gone and he was left physically and emotionally exhausted. He unlocked the door and called for Foster but was met with more crushing silence. He tried calling him on his phone again, but there was still no answer. He left another message, voice wobbly with emotion, “Foster, please come home. I need you here. Why aren’t you here?”

He rummaged around on the coffee table, looking for any drugs, anything at all, but there was nothing left from his and Foster’s days long binge. Then he remembered he had an old prescription bottle filled with benzos stashed away. He’d have to wait about 20 minutes before they would kick in, but it would be worth it to just be able to spend the rest of that miserable day in a fog. He staggered to the bathroom and rummaged through the cabinet before he found it. His hands shook as he pried it open. He dry swallowed three pills.

His heart leapt when his phone rang a few minutes later and he answered immediately. “Foster?” he begged, needing the man’s voice.

“Elio, it’s me.” Oliver. His parents must have given him his number. “Where are you?”

“Fuck. Please just leave me alone, Oliver.”

“I can’t do that, Elio,” he responded, clearly losing his patience. “You know I can’t. Tell me where you are.”

“This isn’t any of your business,” Elio shouted into the phone.

“Of course it is!” Oliver yelled back. “How could this not be my business, Elio? It’s you!” He took a deep breath, calming down. “Listen, your parents’ flight was delayed – thunderstorms in San Francisco. They should be here tomorrow evening. Please, if you won’t stay in the hospital, come back to my place for the night.”

There was no possible way he was going back to Oliver’s apartment. He couldn’t stand to be in his perfect home, meeting his perfect wife. Not ever, but especially not when he was like this. “God, how could you think I would ever do that? You’re unbelievable,” he spat.

“Elio—“

“Life is fucking hard enough without having to see that, without having to see  _her_.”

“Is that— Elio, no. We’re not—we’re not together anymore,” Oliver stumbled through his words.

Elio was shocked into stillness; he couldn’t believe his ears. “What? You’re not?”

Oliver brushed passed it, “Elio, tell me where you are. I’ll come and get you.”

He paused for a long moment, thinking, before mumbling, “I don’t know.”

“Please,” Oliver begged softly.

He gave him Foster’s address, curled up in a ball on the couch, and waited.

***

Elio jolted awake when he heard Oliver knock softly on the front door. Exhausted and in a haze from the benzos, Elio just waited, unable to lift himself off the couch, face pressed into the cushions. Oliver knocked one more time before he tried the door and found it unlocked. He let himself in and looked around at the mess, empty beer cans and liquor bottles littered the tables and floors, used drug paraphernalia everywhere. Elio clenched his eyes shut so he didn’t have to see Oliver take in the needles and the pipes, every part of Elio’s dark world. Oliver was sunbathing on the berm, playing volleyball on the lawn, soft-boiled eggs in the morning, good wine and better food, and stolen kisses in the shadows. He didn’t belong here in Foster’s apartment, tainted just by breathing the same air.

A gentle hand brushed through his curls and he whimpered at the tenderness. “Elio,” Oliver whispered. “We can’t stay here.” Elio nodded in understanding, but couldn’t say a word. “Are you on something right now?” Oliver asked softly. “I promise I won’t be mad, I just need to know.” A moment’s hesitation, then Elio nodded again minutely, eyes still closed. The hand in his hair didn’t miss a beat at the admission, just continued its sweet ministrations. Elio was so grateful. “Can you help me grab some of your things to take with us?” Elio inched his lethargic fingers along the couch to reach out out to Oliver, but made no move to get up. “Come on, I’ll help you,” Oliver gently grabbed Elio’s reaching hand and guided him to his feet.

They slowly made their way to the bedroom where Elio wearily grabbed a small duffle bag and slowly started filling it with clothes from the closet, the dresser, sifting through piles of dirty clothes on the floor. Unfocused, he shuffled into the bathroom, adding a few essentials to his stuff. He hesitated before adding the benzos as well, shoving the bottle to the bottom. Back in the bedroom, he looked around, knowing he was forgetting things. Oliver waited patiently, letting Elio move at his own pace. Elio’s eyes landed back on the dresser, his heart clenching. He can’t believe he almost forgot it. He dropped his duffle where he stood and walked quickly to the dresser, opening the bottom drawer. He dug toward the back until he pulled out a plastic laundry bag. He sat on the edge of the bed, glancing at Oliver who joined him, sitting close. He gently opened the bag revealing Billowy, carefully folded inside. A gentle intake of breath escaped Oliver.

“I can’t believe you still have this,” he whispered, tears welling in his eyes as he thought of the boy he had given this to two summers ago. He brushed his hand over the blue fabric of his old shirt. That boy was unrecognizable before him now.

Elio carefully leaned his head against Oliver’s shoulder and speaking for the first time since Oliver got there, whispered softly, slowly, “Elio. Elio.”

Oliver wrapped a strong arm around him, pulling him closer, and breathed out against his hair the most comforting word Elio could ever think of, in any language: “Oliver.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! This is my favorite chapter so far, particularly the last section. It was such a joy to write. I just love the stark contrast of manic Elio in the first half, and this Elio so quiet and still (albeit, mostly from drugs, but you get it).
> 
> Anyway, notes!
> 
>   * We're not done with Day 506 yet, but when I wrote those last few lines, it just felt like such an ending to me I needed to honor that. But we'll linger on this day for a little bit in the next chapter as well. For anyone who cares, we're at the beginning of May 2003 (remembering that their summer together was in 2000).
>   * The hospital scene is pulled from what Nic describes in _Tweak_ after his first overdose. I changed it a bit, skipped the constant trying to sneak out until they just finally let him go for being a pain in the ass, and just let Elio go right away. But yeah, the whole catheter thing? That's all Nic.
>   * I know nothing about benzos except that they're addictive and a side effect is lethargy. This was a small bit of inspiration from Nic - he describes his first thought after his overdose as being that of a bag of crystal meth that he had stored in a bottle of Ambien. I didn't want Elio to do crystal, I wanted him sleepy and out of it for the second half of the chapter, so I chose benzos instead. In the first draft they were even in an old Ambien bottle, and then I decided that didn't make sense.
> 

> 
> I love reading and responding to all of your comments. It’s so encouraging to have readers engaging with my writing! :)


	8. Day 506 Pt 2

Oliver held Elio the whole cab ride home, Elio’s head resting tenderly against his chest, their fingers tangled together on Oliver’s thigh. Oliver was lost deep in thought when he suddenly heard a faint noise coming from the boy in his arms. “I’m sorry,” whispered over and over into his sweater. Oliver’s heart broke even more as he hugged him tighter. “I’ll go to rehab, I promise, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

When they finally arrived at Oliver’s apartment, Elio immediately collapsed on the floor in exhaustion, pillowing his head on his arm as he curled up. Oliver had been worried that Elio had suddenly lost consciousness because of the speed in which he hit the ground, but then Elio slowly reached a hand up and out for him to take. He breathed a sigh of relief as he slipped his hand back into Elio’s and sat with him on the carpet until Elio fell asleep.

Oliver stroked Elio’s back for a while longer before he got up, draped a blanket over the boy’s shoulders, and then called Professor Perlman.

“How is he?” Samuel asked, voice tinny over the phone.

“He’s okay. Quiet. He did say he would go to rehab, so that’s a good sign, but he had taken something when I found him,” Oliver murmured quietly, trying not to wake Elio.

“Do you know what it was?”

“No, he didn’t say and I didn’t want to ask either. He was cooperating; I didn’t want to risk that changing. He’s sleeping now, but maybe I’ll try to find out when he wakes up.”

“Don’t worry if can’t find out,” Samuel responded. “You’ve done so much for him and for us, Oliver. I don’t know how we could ever repay you for being there when we couldn’t.”

“No need, Professor. You all have been incredibly generous to me, even when—” Oliver hesitated, choosing his words carefully, “even when I didn’t deserve such kindness. After the hurt I caused Elio—” Emotion halted Oliver’s words as he gazed at the boy sleeping on his floor, thinking about they had all nearly lost him forever.

“We know how much Elio means to you, Oliver. Don’t let guilt consume you, every person’s path leads them to where they are for a reason.”

“Even the path Elio’s on right now?”

“I have to believe that. Just like I have to believe that he is strong enough to survive this.”

***

“Hi, Perlmans,” Oliver said, his smile not reaching his eyes as he answered the door the next afternoon.

“Hello, Oliver,” Samuel responded as Annella moved in to hug him.

“How is Elio?” Annella asked after Oliver beckoned them inside.

“He’s definitely starting withdrawal, but I think he’s okay. He’s been sleeping a lot, has a crazy appetite when he’s awake, and I barely got him to move off the floor and to the couch, but I think he’s as good as can be expected at this point.”

“We leave for Italy in two days, a place at a rehab there is opening up by the end of the week.”

“Has he been to rehab before?”

“Twice while he was living in San Francisco.”

“And you think this place will work? What’s different about it?”

Samuel just shrugged and shook his head, “I don’t know. They’re all different, but they’re all the same. But we have to keep trying, don’t we?” Oliver nodded in agreement.

“How did all of this happen? I never would have thought this could happen to him.”

“We don’t know. We think it started a little over a year ago when he was still in school, but we’re not sure. It could have been earlier. We missed all the signs,” he said wistfully as he watched his wife walk over to their sleeping son.

“Elio?” Annella stroked her son’s shoulders to wake him, “Elio, svegliarti tesoro?” Elio groaned and pressed his face into the pillow while his mind caught up to what was happening.

“Mom?”

“Hello, darling.” She cupped his cheek affectionately, trying not to let worry cloud her features as she took in the state of her son. “Can you collect your things? We’re going to take you back to our hotel.”

“What? No. Oliver—” he stammered, suddenly awake. He looked around and found Oliver standing in the kitchen with his father, watching the conversation. Elio hated the worried look on Oliver’s face.

“Oliver has done more than enough. But we don’t leave for Italy for another two days and we cannot impose on him further.”

“Italy? Why are we going to Italy?” Elio couldn’t track what was being said, his agitation rising. All he could hear was that he had to leave Oliver again.

“A place at a rehab is opening up by the end of the week and we were able to get you in.”

“What?” Elio asked incredulous, voice rising. “I’m not going to rehab.”

Confused, Oliver interjected, “But you said you would. You promised.”

“I don’t remember that. It doesn’t matter, I’m not going.”

“Elio,” sighed Samuel, “you just got out of the hospital from an overdose. This is a bigger problem than it was before. You have to do this.”

“Look, I get it, I fucked up, but I’ve learned my lesson. I don’t need to go to rehab!”

“You almost died! This isn’t negotiable!”

“I’m not going,” Elio took a quick, panicked breath, “I want to stay here.”

“We can talk about this more back at the hotel.”

“No!” Elio roared, “I’m not going with you to Italy or the hotel! I’m staying here!”

“You can’t do that,” Samuel argued. “You don’t live here, this is Oliver’s home. You can’t just decide to stay here!”

“He can stay with me until you go, if that’s alright with you,” Oliver cut in, diffusing the rising tension.

“Oliver,” Annella sighed, “we can’t impose on you further. You’ve done too much already.”

“I promise you, I don’t mind. In fact, I would love to have him stay,” he smiled softly at Elio. “My home is your home,” he said to Elio, and then to the others, “it’s all of your home.”

“You’re too kind, Oliver,” Samuel responded, “but you don’t need to do this.”

“I want to. It’s not like I can just… I can’t forget this is happening. And I know I’m not family, but I want to help in any way I can and this is a safe space that he wants to be in right now. Even just for one more day.”

Samuel and Annella exchanged a glance, communicating silently, before Samuel exhaled in frustration and turned to his son, “You can stay here, but you will be on that plane on Monday morning. No more arguments.” Elio agreed.

***

Around midnight, after the Perlmans had retired to their hotel for the night, Elio was curled up on the couch, shivering and sweating, praying for the sleep that had come so easily to him earlier in the day. To try and take his mind off his body’s suffering, Elio asked, “So what happened with her?”

Oliver came back from his kitchen with a glass of water and sat next to Elio, encouraging him to sit up and sip the water. “What happened with who?”

“Your fiancée,” he answered after he took a long drink, leaning back against the armrest of the couch, knees tucked to his chest.

“Oh, um… It had been off and on for years. We were both feeling pressured by our families to get married and I really did love her. It just never worked right which is why we never stayed together too long. I finally just called it. Our patterns were never going to change, marriage was just going to make it even messier. She agreed and that’s it.”

“What did your family think?”

“They’re pissed, ashamed of me, etcetera. It doesn’t matter, they’ll come around.”

“Did she know about…,” Elio trailed off, unsure how to ask.

“About you?” Elio nodded, not meeting Oliver’s eyes. “In a way. She knew there was someone I met in Italy, but I never wanted to talk about it. I never could. It hurt too much.”

Elio laughed humorlessly, “Yeah, I know what you mean.”

“I wish things could have been different. Italy seems like a lifetime ago. And now—” Oliver broke off, emotions choking his voice as he thought of the Elio he had known. “How did this happen? How did you get here?”

Elio glanced away, “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Oliver couldn’t think of a single time Elio had refused to share something with him. Every thought, every emotion, everything had belonged to both of them, until this. “It’s not because of me, is it?”

“Don’t be so arrogant,” Elio chided with a weak smirk as he turned to stretch out his legs over the couch and across Oliver’s lap. Oliver chuckled lightly and placed his hands on Elio’s knee, rubbing softly. “Do you think we could ever…?” Elio asked after a long silence, resting his trembling hand over Oliver’s.

Oliver thought for a moment, looking at their joined hands, before shaking his head, “No. Not like this.”

“If I got sober?”

“I can’t be the reason you get sober. That’s not good enough and it wouldn’t be healthy for us. It’s too much pressure. You have to get sober because you want to. It doesn’t work otherwise.”

“And your parents?”

Oliver stroked Elio’s hand. “You would just be the icing on the cake of disappointment in their eyes. But I think maybe it’s time to stop caring about that.”

“But not now?”

“No, not now. Maybe one day.”

“Friends then?” Elio asked hopefully. “We were always friends first.”

“Of course,” Oliver smiled warmly, leaning closer to wrap his arm around Elio, always so easy with his affection. “We’ll always be friends. I promise.”

Elio nodded wearily, but happily, and buried his face in Oliver’s neck, seeking comfort.

An hour later, stretched out together on the couch, long after Oliver thought Elio had fallen asleep in his arms, Elio whispered, “I thought I was done.”

Oliver ran a hand through Elio’s curls and whispered back, “Done with what?”

Elio’s breathing grew ragged against Oliver’s skin, “Everything.”

Confused, Oliver drew Elio’s face away from his neck to look at his him, but Elio’s eyes were clenched tightly shut. He cupped the boy’s face in both his hands, “Elio?”

“I thought I was going to die and then I would just be done.” He opened his tear filled eyes but was unable to look at Oliver.

“Did you… want to be done?” Oliver asked, afraid of the answer. Elio didn’t say anything, only closed his eyes again and hesitated briefly before he nodded. Oliver’s heart shattered as he gathered him back into his arms. “We’re going to get you help, baby,” Oliver promised as he held him tightly.

Elio thought briefly of Foster, who always called him "baby", before pushing his memory away, settling more into Oliver’s arms and finally drifting off to sleep again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter kicked my ass. Writer's block hit me so hard, but I'm happy enough with it that I just needed to be done. It didn't help that I have another two chapter story for these two brewing so that's been getting more of my attention lately since this chapter was so difficult to write! It is very fun to write the two boys getting close again though.
> 
> Notes:
> 
>   * Svegliarti tesoro - Wake up, darling
>   * Nic scatters throughout his writing that he had suicidal thoughts during his time steeped in addiction (including writing specifically about a near attempt in his sequel _We All Fall Down_. It's part of his mental illness, but also a symptom of meth withdrawal, so unfortunately, Elio can't escape that. Nic also wrote about the relief he felt at the thought of being done after this first overdose, so I can only imagine that he felt a twinge of disappointment that he survived. Speculation, but that's how Elio's feeling. 
>   * Foster is AWOL, but we've definitely not seen the last of him. Assume he's out on a binge somewhere after knowing Elio would be alright. He at least made sure of that.
>   * Elio refusing to go to rehab is taken from a small portion of _Beautiful Boy_ , the book, pg 103.
> 

> 
> Thanks again for reading and all of your continued comments - they're very motivating to me to keep on writing this!


	9. Interlude: Letters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These emails back and forth from Elio and Oliver take place over May 2003 through December 2003.
> 
> Flirty boys.

**To: o.cohen@columbia.edu**  
**From: elio.perlman@gmail.it**  
**Subject: Rehab**

Oliver,

Rehab is hell. You wouldn’t believe the weird people they let into this place. But then, I’m one of these weird people too, aren’t I?

Elio

 **To: elio.perlman@gmail.it**  
**From: o.cohen@columbia.edu**  
**Subject: Re: Rehab**

Elio,

I’m glad to hear from you! I confess I thought I wouldn’t, at least not while you were in rehab. I know it must not be a fun place to be, but it’s the _right_ place to be. I know you can do this, Elio.

Oliver

***

 **To: o.cohen@columbia.edu**  
**From: elio.perlman@gmail.it**  
**Subject: Help!**

Oliver,

My roommate won’t stop snoring at night. Haven’t slept in a week.

Elio

 **To: elio.perlman@gmail.it**  
**From: o.cohen@columbia.edu**  
**Subject: Re: Help!**

Elio,

Want me to send you some earplugs?

Oliver

***

 **To: o.cohen@columbia.edu**  
**From: elio.perlman@gmail.it**  
**Subject: [none]**

Oliver,

It was a hard day today with my counselor. I really wanted to use. If I wasn’t here, I definitely would have. But at the same time, I’m glad I couldn’t. I’m not sure I should be telling you this, but I want to tell you everything, like we used to do.

Elio

 **To: elio.perlman@gmail.it**  
**From: o.cohen@columbia.edu**  
**Subject: Re: [none]**

Elio,

I’m so sorry you had a hard day; I really wish I could be there for you. I’m so grateful that you couldn’t use. You’re making incredible progress and I would hate to see it all thrown away for a bad day. I can’t believe how strong you are to go through this. You can always talk to me, about everything, even this. I’m always here.

Oliver

***

 **To: o.cohen@columbia.edu**  
**From: elio.perlman@gmail.it**  
**Subject: Dreaming**

Oliver,

I dreamt about the berm last night. You and I there together, just lying in the sun. Do you ever think about that?

Elio

 **To: elio.perlman@gmail.it**  
**From: o.cohen@columbia.edu**  
**Subject: Re: Dreaming**

Dear Elio,

I think about it constantly.

Oliver

 **To: o.cohen@columbia.edu**  
**From: elio.perlman@gmail.it**  
**Subject: Re: Re: Dreaming**

Oh I’m _dear_ now am I?

 **To: elio.perlman@gmail.it**  
**From: o.cohen@columbia.edu**  
**Subject: Re: Re: Re: Dreaming**

Yes. You will always be dear to me.

Oliver

***

 **To: o.cohen@columbia.edu**  
**From: elio.perlman@gmail.it**  
**Subject: Home again**

Dear Oliver,

I came home from rehab today. It’s good to be here – I didn’t realize how much I missed it. My parents are pleased but wary. I can’t blame them. I start an outpatient group therapy tomorrow that’s focused on working the 12 steps. Maybe this time it’ll take. I think it might.

Elio

 **To: elio.perlman@gmail.it**  
**From: o.cohen@columbia.edu**  
**Subject: Re: Home again**

Dear Elio,

I’m glad to hear that you’re home and starting on the 12 step program. It sounds like things are going well for you there. Please say hello to your parents for me. I miss all of you.

Oliver

 **To: o.cohen@columbia.edu**  
**From: elio.perlman@gmail.it**  
**Subject: Re: Re: Home again**

I miss you too.

***

 **To: o.cohen@columbia.edu**  
**From: elio.perlman@gmail.it**  
**Subject: Food!**  

Dear Oliver,

As far as rehab food goes, the one here wasn’t so bad. It’s still Italy after all. But oh my god, nothing could have prepared me for Mafalda’s cooking again. How on earth did I survive without it for so long?

Elio

 **To: elio.perlman@gmail.it**  
**From: o.cohen@columbia.edu**  
**Subject: Re: Food!**

Dear Elio,

I can taste the food from here. I hope one day I’ll get to enjoy it in person again. Enjoy!

Oliver

***

 **To: o.cohen@columbia.edu**  
**From: elio.perlman@gmail.it**  
**Subject: Things found**

Dear Oliver,

I played piano for the first time in nearly two years today. I’m rusty, but it’s coming back. I can’t believe I almost lost this.

Elio

 **To: elio.perlman@gmail.it**  
**From: o.cohen@columbia.edu**  
**Subject: Re: Things found**

Dear Elio,

I miss hearing you play. I remember the first time I ever did, I was stunned by your talent. I’m glad you got it back. Please, never stop again.

Oliver

***

 **To: o.cohen@columbia.edu**  
**From: elio.perlman@gmail.it**  
**Subject: News**

Dear Oliver,

Today in group therapy, a guy was talking about how he wishes he could go back to university, that he wishes he hadn’t blown his chance when he had it. It got me thinking that maybe I should go back to school. I still can. I talked with my parents about it and they cautiously agreed. I found a school in New York. They have a dorm specifically for sober living. I really think like this could be my chance, you know? I think this is it.

I don’t know if that could mean anything for us. I understand if not. But since we _are_ friends, I had to let you know that I’ll be moving back to New York in January.

Yours,  
Elio

 **To: elio.perlman@gmail.it**  
**From: o.cohen@columbia.edu**  
**Subject: Re: News**

Dearest Elio,

I’m thrilled to hear that you’re going back to school! It sounds like things are really turning around. I’m so, so proud of you.

As for us, I don’t want to make you any promises, but I’m not saying no. I’m definitely not saying no. Let me know when you’re coming and maybe we could get dinner together?

Oliver

 **To: o.cohen@columbia.edu**  
**From: elio.perlman@gmail.it**  
**Subject: Re: Re: News**

I’ll be there January 8th.

 **To: elio.perlman@gmail.it**  
**From: o.cohen@columbia.edu**  
**Subject: Re: Re: Re: News**

I can’t wait.

Love,  
Oliver

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We went from horrific writers block for a month to another "chapter" in three days. Next one is vaguely outlined, so hopefully it won't be another month between chapters.
> 
> This little interlude was inspired by David Sheff writing at some point "He sends me funny emails sometimes." I thought it was in his original article he wrote for the New York Times Magazine, but looking that up, it wasn't in there... So I have no idea where it originated, other than it's from him. 
> 
> If Elio's email format is wrong, then I'm sorry. But I just made an educated guess. Also, Oliver's last name is Cohen in my brain.
> 
> Thanks for reading! Please leave a comment. I’m needy!


	10. Day 765

They met at a little hole in the wall Greek restaurant in The Village. Oliver stood outside the restaurant waiting for him, his whole face lighting up when he finally saw Elio crossing the street toward him. It had been eight months since Elio had laid eyes on Oliver and he was once again struck by the depth of his feelings for the man.

As they grabbed a table inside, Oliver asked, “So tell me about school. How was your first week?”

“Really good. I’m taking this great poetry class, you would love it. We’re reading all of the classics; Shelly, Wordsworth, Coleridge, etcetera, and really digging in deep to everything that goes into the poems. Not just the actual words, but the structure, the cadence, the rhythm, and what they all mean and how they add to what the poet was saying.”

“Are you thinking about majoring in Literature?”

“Maybe? I haven’t really decided yet. I’m thinking about music as well. Piano, obviously. I’ve always loved it.”

“I think that’s a great idea. Either, really. You sound passionate about both, so you can’t go wrong.”

“So what are you doing these days?”

“I’m officially in the midst of my Ph.D. program at Columbia. Lots of research, lots of T.A. work, and of course writing my dissertation.”

“Collecting more degrees?” Elio teased making them both laugh.

“You know me. I’d happily be a professional student forever,” Oliver grinned.

While they ate, Elio caught Oliver up on his parents and their lives in Italy and what he had been doing for the last few months. Oliver spoke about his research and his writing, he told Elio about his friends, and his life in the years since his summer in Italy. It was easy, like it always had been between them. After a long, comfortable silence where they just gazed at each other, taking in the changes of the last few months, soft smiles on their faces, Elio spoke. “Okay, so I’ve been trying not to ask, but I need to. Have you thought any more about us?”

Oliver broke eye contact, looked down, and nodded. “I have….”

“It’s okay. Forget I asked,” Elio shrugged it off, knowing where Oliver was going.

“No,” Oliver pressed, reaching across the table to take Elio’s hand. “We can’t forget this. We both want this, but I’m scared, Elio. You’re just starting school, and yes, you’ve been sober for 8 months, but I just… I need to be sure that you’re fully in control of the situation.”

“I am in control. I’m going to meetings, I found a sponsor, I don’t even want to use.”

“I know, I know,” Oliver responded, squeezing Elio’s hand. “But I need a little more time. God, Elio, the last time I saw you was in May just after you _overdosed_. I had just found out that all of this was going on, your dad had never said anything before he needed me at the hospital. It’s just… It’s all been really sudden and really shocking. I can’t get the image of you lying in that hospital bed out of my head. Of you screaming your way out of there, of you high, lying on the couch in that horrific apartment, of you sweating and shivering on the floor of my apartment as your body suffered through withdrawal… That’s the picture I’ve been left with these last 8 months. And I don’t want to see you that way anymore.” Elio nodded, quiet and ashamed. “Just give me some more time to adjust here and then maybe we can try this.”

“So still just friends then?” Elio asked, a playful smirk he didn’t believe plastered on his face as he tried and failed to lighten the mood a little.

Oliver smiled but remained serious, “You know how I feel about you, I’m not going to hide that. I’m done running away from it. I’m just afraid to jump in the deep end right now. I need us to slow down.”

“We can go slow,” Elio agreed as he laid his other hand on top of Oliver’s. “We didn’t have the chance to go slow before.”

So they met for breakfast on Sunday mornings, movies on Tuesday nights after their classes, jogged through the wintery Central Park before Elio’s Saturday AA meetings. Oliver dropped by campus to hear Elio play piano in one of the music rooms on Friday nights. Elio worked on homework in Oliver’s apartment as often as he could while Oliver cooked or did his own research. They slowly fit themselves into each other’s lives once again.

And after a month, after a delicious home cooked meal in Oliver’s apartment, after they had sat on the couch just a little too close and talked for hours, Oliver finally whispered, “I really miss you.”

Elio furrowed his brow, “You don’t need to miss me. I’m right here.”

Oliver leaned in slowly, pressing their foreheads together, his breath soft against Elio’s lips. Elio closed his eyes and brought his hands up to gently brush Oliver’s jaw before slipping them into his hair. Heart racing, Elio whispered his own name against Oliver’s lips just moments before Oliver finally closed the distance between them.

They kissed softly, brushing lips, breathing each other’s air, until Elio very lightly swiped his tongue along Oliver’s bottom lip. Oliver deepened the kiss immediately, opening his mouth to Elio with a groan. He tangled their tongues together as he gripped Elio tight and slowly tipped him backwards onto the couch. His hands snaked under Elio’s shirt to feel his skin hot beneath his touch.

“Slow,” Elio panted after a minute, even as he pulled Oliver closer on top of him, cradling his body between his legs. “You said you wanted to go slow.”

“I know what I said,” Oliver growled against Elio’s neck as he kissed it. He bit lightly where Elio’s neck met his shoulder. Elio gasped and bucked up against him before yanking Oliver’s mouth back to his own. Oliver’s hand trailed down Elio’s side, all the way down his thigh until he reached his knee, which he hitched further up on his hip as he ground down.

As Oliver reached for the button on Elio’s pants, Elio lightly pushed at Oliver’s chest, just enough to get his attention and asked breathlessly, “Do you have any condoms?”

“No?” Oliver responded, looking down at him in confusion. “We never used them before.”

“Yeah, that was before I became a promiscuous, intravenous drug user.”

Shocked by the blunt statement, Oliver could only breathe out, “Elio.”

“Shit.” Elio pushed Oliver off of him and sat up, hiding his face in his hands as he caught his breath. “I always used a clean needle, but I’ll get tested again. We should still use them though, no matter what the results are. I won’t risk you.”

Oliver slowly nodded before tentatively asking, “Promiscuous?”

Elio thought of Foster, whose sexual history he didn’t know. He thought of how foolish he was for never asking. But most of all, he thought of all the men he had sold his body to so he could pay for drugs. There was just no way to explain that to Oliver. “I don’t— I can’t talk about that. Not with you. Not now.”

“Okay,” Oliver murmured, defeated, looking down at his hands folded in his lap.

“I have to go. I need to go to a meeting.” He stood and started collecting his things.

“Fuck. I knew we shouldn’t have—”

“This has nothing to do with us,” Elio interrupted as he put on his jacket. “Maybe a little, but only a very small part. It’s just the right thing for me to do. I don’t want to use right now, but I need to make sure I stay that way.” Oliver nodded, understanding as best he could. “Maybe you could come with me?” he asked hopefully. He looked at his watch, “There’s one starting in thirty minutes a few blocks from here. I go to it sometimes when I leave here….”

“Yeah, of course I’ll go with you.”

Elio sighed in relief as he wrapped his arms around Oliver’s waist, hugging him tight.

***

They didn’t make it a habit, Oliver going to AA meetings with Elio, but over the next month he went at least once a week after their weekly jogs through the park. He held Elio’s hand during every meeting, looked on proudly and listened intently whenever Elio spoke, kissed him deeply just around the corner after it was over, and made love to him at night.

And then suddenly, there was Foster. The moment he saw him, Elio slipped his hand into Oliver’s and squeezed tightly, trying to ground himself. He had been avoiding any meeting he knew Foster had the possibility of attending. He was so drawn to the man, but now he had Oliver. He couldn’t mess that up. Why was Foster at this meeting? Why this one? Why this day? Just why?

“You okay?” Oliver whispered, interrupting Elio’s internal panic at the thought of Oliver and Foster being in the same room together.

“I don’t know. My ex just walked in.”

After a beat, Oliver responded, “It’s okay. We’ll deal with it.” He soothingly stroked his thumb across Elio’s knuckles and turned his attention back to the speaker. But Elio couldn’t focus knowing that Foster was in the room. He could feel him there sitting a few rows behind him. Elio was so focused on Foster’s presence in the room that he barely noticed that the meeting had ended and Foster was walking toward him, a big grin on his face.

“Elio!” Foster enthusiastically greeted Elio, wrapping him up in a hug before Elio could protest. “God, baby, it’s been ages.” Elio hated to admit to himself how much he had missed hearing Foster call him that as he clung just a little tighter to the man. Oliver cleared his throat when the embrace lasted too long.

Stepping back, blushing, Elio introduced the two. “Foster, this is Oliver. Oliver, Foster.”

“Very nice to meet you,” Foster smiled as he reached a hand out to shake Oliver’s. “How do you two know each other?”

“I’m his boyfriend,” Oliver explained easily, draping an arm around Elio’s shoulders. Elio’s heart flipped at the words. They hadn’t given it a name before, what they were doing, but there it was. Boyfriends.

Foster raised an inquisitive eyebrow, “Boyfriend? Well, then.” Foster was nothing but smiles, but Elio could see the sadness behind it. “I tried calling you a while back. It went straight to your voicemail though. I was worried that you….” He trailed off, unable to speak the words that he feared Elio had died.

“I’ve been in Italy. In rehab. I only just got back to New York a couple months ago to go to school. I’m at City College.”

“I’m so glad to hear that,” Foster smiled softly before somberly saying, “Listen, I’m really sorry about everything that happened. That you couldn’t get a hold of me after you left the hospital. I know it was a long time ago, but I still need to apologize. That wasn’t right of me.”

“It’s okay.”

“It’s really not,” Foster pressed. “I swear I blacked out for three days after I got you to the hospital. I finally got my phone charged and I heard those messages you left me. I called you right away but you didn’t answer and God it’s been so long and I had no idea what happened to you and I’m _so_ sorry.”

“Foster, I promise, it’s okay. You saved my life that night. You don’t owe me _any_ apologies.”

“I miss you, baby” Foster breathed out, his eyes flooding. Unable to reciprocate the words with Oliver standing there, Elio just nodded, hoping Foster would understand that he missed him too. Foster scrubbed a hand across his face, wiping away the tears before they could fall, and turned to Oliver, “Please take care of him.”

***

The subway ride back to Oliver’s home was quiet, Elio’s only solace that they were going to be okay was that Oliver never let go of his hand.

“Did you love him?” Oliver asked the moment his apartment door was shut. Elio nodded. “Do you still love him?” Elio looked away, his silence answer enough. “Fuck.”

“It doesn’t mean anything, Oliver!”

“Doesn’t mean anything?” Oliver shouted. “You just admitted that you love him!”

“I would never do anything about it! I would never jeopardize what we have for him. Yes, I love him. But he’s not you. You’re everything to me, Oliver.”

“It was his apartment I found you at back in May, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, but—”

“But what, Elio?! But it wasn’t his fault? Even if it wasn’t, he sure didn’t help! How could you want to be with someone like that?”

“I don’t want to be with him!” Elio lied smoothly. He did want to be with Foster. But he wanted to be with Oliver more and that is what mattered. “And it _wasn’t_ his fault. I made my own choices. No one forced me to do anything.”

“Why are you defending him?”

“I’m not!” Elio ran his hands through his hair in frustration before he took a deep breath to calm down. “I’m not. I’m trying to tell you that it doesn’t matter. He doesn’t matter. _You_ matter. And that’s it. You don’t need to worry about him.”

“What would have happened if I hadn’t been there tonight?” Oliver accused.

“Are you serious?” Elio asked furiously. “Do you really have so little faith in me? In us?”

“You didn’t see your conversation with him from my perspective. The way that you looked at each other... If that’s how you are with him in front of me, I can’t even imagine how you would be without me there.” Oliver sat on his couch, buried his head in his hands, and whispered, “There’s so much about you that I don’t know anymore.”

“I would _never_ betray you like that. You can trust me, Oliver. I don’t,” Elio paused, inhaled deeply as he knelt down in front of the couch, and pulled Oliver’s hands away from his face to look at him. “I don’t want to say the words for the first time right now because we’re fighting. Especially not when we’re fighting about someone else. But you know, right? Please tell me you know.”

Oliver looked into Elio’s clear, pleading eyes and saw nothing but love and sincerity. He brushed Elio’s cheeks with his thumbs and kissed his forehead. “I know,” he said softly as they clung to each other. “Me too.”

That night in bed, as he and Oliver slowly made love, Elio swore he could feel the stains of the fading track marks on his arms and the weight of his shame — for the drugs, for the men, for his lingering feelings for Foster, for Oliver’s reluctance to trust him fully — was almost unbearable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THEY KISSED. FINALLY.  
> THEY ALMOST SAID I LOVE YOU. And then I ruined it with angst and guilt and shame. Sorry.
> 
> Notes!
> 
>   * Elio is studying at City College of New York. It's in Manhattan about a mile away from Columbia, so he's very close to Oliver. It took me ages to decide what college he should go to since I wanted it to be in the city, have both English and Music majors, and not have a super high rejection rate since Elio failed out of Berkeley. I landed on that one because I had spent too much time researching something entirely meaningless to the story and that one fit well enough!
>   * Elio's poetry class is one that I took in college. It was super hard but really amazing.
>   * Track marks can sometimes apparently take up to 5 years after stopping intravenous drug use to disappear so even though he's clean for 10 months at the end of this chapter, they're still there.
>   * Nothing from any of the books this time - this chapter was all me. We'll get more influence from Nic in the next chapter.
> 

> 
> Thank you again for reading - please leave a comment so I know that you actually are reading! Comments are incredibly motivating to keep writing and I appreciate every single one of them. More comments = less time between chapters!


	11. Day 873

**Day 873**

One year. He had told himself that he just needed to make it one year and he would be okay. But here he was, sober for a full year to the day, and he felt no different. He was at Oliver’s apartment for the weekend, as he was for most weekends – the sober living dorms at City College were not as free of drugs and alcohol as he and his parents had been promised and the temptation to join the parties on weekends was too great. Oliver had woken him up with a long, lingering kiss to the back of his neck as he spooned up behind him. He whispered, “Congratulations, sweetheart. I’m so proud of you,” before turning Elio on his back and trailing his lips all over his body, down further, soft, wet kisses on his stomach, on his hips. He blindly reached for his nightstand drawer, grabbed a condom, quickly slid it onto Elio, and finally wrapped his lips around him and gave him an absolutely earth-shattering celebratory blow job.

365 days. He thought he would feel different. That even though yesterday hadn’t been easy, that all the previous 364 days hadn’t been easy, that _that_ day would be. But it wasn’t. His hold on his sobriety felt as fragile as ever. He could tell himself and Oliver all he wanted that he didn’t want to use drugs, but that didn’t change the fact that he did. Every day he wanted to use and every day he had to make the choice not to.

“Everything okay?” Oliver asked as he set a cup of coffee in front of Elio. “You’ve been in your head all morning.”

Elio smiled, “Yeah, sorry. I’m fine. Just thinking about everything. It’s a big day.”

Oliver brushed his hand through Elio’s curls; Elio turned his face and nuzzled into Oliver’s palm, placing a kiss in the center of it. “Anything you want to do today?”

Elio shook his head. “Nothing. Go to a meeting, but nothing else. I just want to be with you.”

At the meeting, Elio got his one year sober chip, he spoke about the last year, how it hadn’t been easy but he had made it this far so he could keep going. People congratulated him, applauded his milestone, Oliver held his hand and looked on proudly, and Elio felt nothing but the struggle and anguish of staying sober every single day.

***

**Day 889**

“So, my friend Peter, he’s also getting his Classics Ph.D.” Oliver explained, “he invited us over for dinner with him and his wife, Amelia, this weekend.”

“Hmm?” Elio responded, detached, trying to stay focused on the final paper he was writing for his American Literature class, trying to keep his mind off of the AA meeting he had gone to the previous day and how much he had been struggling to connect lately.

“Dinner with Peter,” Oliver tried again, endeared with Elio even when he was distracted. “Would you want to go?” Elio didn’t respond, just typed a few words before frustratingly deleting them. He had been stuck on the paragraph for the better part of an hour, unable to get the words out of his head on onto the paper in a cohesive manner and he was losing his mind, so discouraged that he wasn’t able to just do it. “Elio? Five minutes, please?”

Elio looked at Oliver’s grin and smiled softly in return, giving Oliver his attention. “Five minutes.”

“Do you want to have dinner with my friends on Saturday?”

“Do you want me to meet your friends?” Despite having been together again for months, Elio had yet to meet any of Oliver’s friends or colleagues. He knew that Oliver had been holding them at an arm’s length, but he had noticed that in the weeks after he had hit his one year sober mark, Oliver had started dropping his guard, letting Elio in more.

“I think it’s time, don’t you?”

“Do they know…?”

“That you’re sober? No. That doesn’t define you, Elio.”

Elio _felt_ defined by his sobriety, by his tenuous hold on it, but he was pleased with Oliver’s words nonetheless. “Are you sure you want me to meet them?”

“Positive. Are you saying yes?”

“Yes. Done?”

“Nope, I still have four minutes of your attention left,” he said smugly. “Get over here.” Elio smirked as he climbed onto Oliver’s lap, kissing him passionately.

***

**Day 892**

“Peter got held up in class, but should be here any minute now. Would you both like some wine?” Amelia asked, already reaching for two glasses.

“None for me, thanks,” Elio responded quickly before Oliver could say anything.

“Are you sure? It’s a nice bottle. Only the best for meeting Oliver’s boyfriend,” she grinned.

“I, um… I’m sober actually, so I can’t,” he explained a little embarrassed and frustrated that that had to be revealed not two minutes into meeting Amelia. He resented the fact that he had to say no, that he wasn’t allowed _just one_ glass of wine. He felt so stunted, that he couldn’t be allowed such a normal thing. Oliver said he wasn’t defined by his sobriety, but he was utterly wrong.

“Oh god, I’m so sorry. I had no idea. I’ll just put this away.”

“No, no, please,” Elio stopped her. “Don’t let me stop you from enjoying it. Really.”

Amelia hesitated, looking briefly to Oliver who shrugged in assent, then asked him, “What about you?”

Knowing Oliver was about to refuse, Elio jumped in, “Please have some. I insist.”

“The man insists. I’ll just have a small glass though.” Amelia turned away to pour him the wine. “Are you sure this is okay? I don’t want to make this harder for you.”

“Oliver, it’s really fine. You haven’t been drinking around me at all since I came back, but I don’t want you to have to tip toe around this for the rest of our lives. This is my problem. Not yours. You don’t have to be completely sober just because I do. We have to learn to manage this.”

“The rest of our lives?” Oliver teased.

“Shut up,” Elio chided playfully in return, leaning in to lightly bite Oliver’s shoulder just as Peter walked in the door.

“Sorry I’m late,” he apologized as he hung his jacket by the door. “You must be Elio! It’s so nice to meet you. God, you should hear the way Oliver talks about you all day. He never shuts up about you!” Elio laughed and shook Peter’s hand as Oliver blushed and told his friend to knock it off.

Amelia came back then with two glasses of wine for Peter and Oliver, and ushered everyone to the table where dinner was set. Amelia regaled them with some amusing stories she had from working as a nurse, Elio talked about school work and his favorite classes, Oliver waxed eloquent about Italy, meeting Elio, and what he had learned from Elio’s father, Peter gossiped about the professors in their department at Columbia while Oliver laughed along.

It was all so normal. Friends getting together for dinner, proudly introducing the new boyfriend, talking about work, politics, and whatever else was going on in their lives; Elio had no part of this world anymore. What could he _really_ say about the last few years of his life to these happy, perfect people? That he was an addict whose drug of choice was crystal meth. That his self-esteem had been so low that he needed to sell his body to other men in order to feel wanted and beautiful. That he had eaten out of trash cans just to survive because he spent any money he had on drugs and alcohol. That despite Oliver, perfect, beautiful Oliver, who was so proud of him and how far he had come, he couldn’t see himself holding onto his sobriety for even one more minute.

His mind spiraling, his head aching, Elio interrupted the conversation quickly, “Sorry, can I use your bathroom?” Amelia directed him down the hall, first door on the left. He closed the door, locked it, and paced in the small space.

He eyed the bathroom cabinet behind the mirror above the sink. He should call his sponsor. He should call his parents. He should walk out that door and tell Oliver everything, ask for help. One more moment’s hesitation and his decision was made. He opened the cabinet, revealing mouthwash, cough medicine, and a couple prescription bottles. He grabbed them, looked at the labels before he found a wonderful option. Percocet.

He could have one, just to take the edge off. Ease his headache, calm his racing thoughts, go back to dinner and be fine. He popped one pill into his mouth, washed it down with a handful of water from the sink. He paused, then took another pill, another handful of water. He already felt like he could breathe easier. Just knowing that relief was coming was relief in itself.

He returned to the table, smiling warmly at Oliver who was in a playful debate with Peter over some writings of Herodotus. Elio loved nothing more than seeing Oliver talk about something he was so passionate and knowledgable about.

“Enough about dead philosophers for the day. This one though,” Oliver exclaimed proudly as he slung his arm around Elio’s shoulders the moment he sat back down, “God you should see him play piano. He’s unbelievably talented.” Elio blushed and tried to wave off the praise. “And now he’s going to get shy and try and tell you he’s really not that good. But he is.”

“Stop,” Elio chided playfully, but embarrassed, even as he leaned into Oliver.

“You’re embarrassing the man, Oliver!” Peter laughed as he grabbed the bottle of wine and poured himself and Amelia another glass.

“Well, I for one would love to hear you play some time, Elio,” Amelia said. “More wine, Oliver?”

“Is it okay for you if I have another glass?” Oliver asked Elio quietly.

Elio squeezed the man’s thigh affectionately, “Of course. Don’t worry about me.”

***

A little tipsy, Oliver gently pressed him against the door, dragged his nose along the length of Elio’s neck, deeply inhaling his scent. “Thank you for tonight,” he murmured before pressing his lips to Elio’s, kissing him lazily. Elio, whose world was pleasantly soft around the edges from the Percocet, could taste the wine on his tongue, pressing his own further into Oliver’s mouth to try in lick out every last bit.

Oliver chuckled softly at Elio’s supposed eagerness, before pulling back slightly, hands cupping Elio’s cheeks. He cast his eyes all over Elio’s face, taking him in, marveling at the man he chose and who chose him in return. “I love you.”

Guilt immediately punched Elio in the gut. _I love you_. He had known before this moment, of course he had known, that Oliver loved him. There had never been any doubt from their first kiss, from midnight, from the peach, from the berm, from the playful wrestling and teasing. From the first time they touched as they shook hands, from their bike rides through Crema, from running through the streets of Bergamo, drunk, affectionate, and free. From the very moment Oliver had whispered his own name against Elio’s lips, there had been no doubt in his mind at all that Oliver loved him. But to hear the words actually spoken for the first time as Oliver looked deep into his eyes, caressed his face, and kissed him softly… It was too much for him to bear on this day, of all days. The day he had broken his sobriety mere hours before just to be able to cope with a dinner.

Elio could have wept with the guilt but all he could do was wrap his arms tightly around Oliver and whisper back, “I love you too.” Elio could feel Oliver’s love seep out of his body and into the hug as he poured every ounce of warmth he had into it. Oliver’s eyes were bright with joy as he pulled Elio toward his bedroom, divesting them of their clothes along the way.

“I love you,” he murmured again as he laid Elio down on the bed.

“I love you,” he breathed before licking a stripe up Elio’s neck, all the way to his ear which he nibbled gently, leaving Elio trembling for more.

“I love you,” he moaned as he entered Elio’s body.

Oliver whispered his own name into Elio’s ear with each thrust, each iteration its own declaration of love. “Oliver, Oliver.” A sharing of names, a sharing of bodies. Oliver is Oliver and Elio is Oliver.

Elio loved Oliver too much to speak his name in return. He didn’t want Oliver to be Elio anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't even describe the gleeful cackle I let out when I decided to taint their first "I love yous" to each other by having Elio just break his sobriety that day and keep it hidden from Oliver.
> 
> Notes:
> 
>   * The relapse scene is inspired by the one Nic talks about on page 146 of _Tweak_ , the one he had while in college in Massachusetts. The scene is also in the movie. Nic talked about how this relapse just snuck up on him, that he was really surprised by it. He called it a "disease of amnesia" that he had forgotten how bad things really could get. He had stopped going to meetings and was doing it on his own at that point. Elio is still being pretty good about attending meetings, but they weren't connecting the same way they did in the very beginning and he was very discouraged by that. Nic relapsed over a lot of little things and a lot of big things. It didn't always take some huge trigger to cause a relapse, so while I did want to show Elio's struggle to stay sober in this chapter, I did want the decision to relapse to be sudden in his mind, even if externally there was a little bit of build up.
>   * As far as Oliver drinking in front of Elio, don't be too hard on him. Nic talks about dealing with this with his wife in an article he wrote for The Fix, ["How Not to Preach Recovery."](https://www.thefix.com/content/how-not-preach-recovery-10081) He's able to be around alcohol now, he buys it for his wife at the grocery store, and he's fine. This doesn't work for everyone. Some people can't be around it at all and they need their spouses/partners to stay sober as well, etc. in order to stay sober. Whatever works best for that person is the right thing to do. Anyway, Oliver has no idea how to really manage it. He's trusting Elio and his glass of wine is not what sets Elio off.
> 

> 
> On another note, I'm going to be going back through the story and adding days in as you've seen in this chapter. This is borne out of the angst I've been feeling about having to write "a month later" (or the like) and how much I just hate doing that. So I'm adding days in to reflect the passage of time instead. Just a minor change that will come in the next few days. I sporadically edit back chapters as I go, little tweaks, typo fixes, adding a few words here and there, so this is just my latest change.
> 
> As always, thank you so much for reading and an extra special thank you to everyone who comments. **Your comments mean the world to me!** Especially on those difficult to write chapters, they really help motivate me to keep going and I know the next couple are going to be a challenge!
> 
> Please continue to comment so I know people are reading - even if it's just a word or two. Don't let other people leave comments for you - I want to hear _your_ thoughts too! 😍


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